


Seeing Beyond the Obvious

by Orithain, Rina9294



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Clint writes really short reports, First Time, M/M, Pre-MCU, Resolved Sexual Tension, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-31 00:28:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3957631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orithain/pseuds/Orithain, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rina9294/pseuds/Rina9294
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint Barton was the most difficult specialist SHIELD had. Phil Coulson appeared to be a mild-mannered desk jockey. They were either going to be a match made in hell or the best team ever conceived by the mind of Nick Fury.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seeing Beyond the Obvious

2004

The rustle of paper was sharp in the quiet office as Phil Coulson closed the file he had been reading, centering it in front of himself on the desk before looking up at the man sitting across from him, lounged back in the executive chair. There was a hint of a smirk around Nick's visible eye, and Phil kept a tight rein on himself so as not to rise to his friend's very subtle baiting.

"What exactly is this?" he asked. "You're switching out twenty agents under my supervision for one specialist? Is this some kind of slap on the wrist for doing my job too well?"

"You rather I throw you a parade instead?" Fury snorted. "Declare it Phil Coulson Day? Hire an out-of-work actor, dress him as Captain America and have him serenade you?"

"One specialist," Phil repeated, ignoring the jibe. "One. I'm not sure how you expect me to believe this is a good thing."

"The point is that I believe it's a good thing. Now get your ass down to the gym; that's where he is—and you'll thank me for this."

Phil gave him a withering look as he collected the file and stood. "I'll be sure to send you flowers as an expression of my gratitude."

Fury's low laughter followed him as he walked—walked, not stalked, he was damn sure not giving Nick the satisfaction of seeing that—out of the office, getting his expression back under control and his placid demeanor back in place by the time the elevator arrived to take him to the lower level.

***

Clint Barton was exorcising his frustrations from his last mission the same way he always did, first sparring with whoever was willing and then working on his own to hone his skills. Soon he would move on to the firing range where he would picture his most recent handler's face in the center of the target. He worked with them; he got the job done every time, but did they all have to treat him like an idiot whose only worth was a mindless ability to hit a target?

Phil waited for a break in the rhythm of the other man's shadow boxing before speaking. "Specialist Barton, I'm Phil Coulson; I've been assigned as your new handler." He kept his tone bland, professional, waiting to see the agent's reaction.

Clint turned to see who had spoken and barely prevented himself from gawking. This guy looked like the most serious injury he'd ever faced was paper cuts from the all the paper he pushed. "Step up from accounting for you, huh?"

"Yes, apparently you're the prize they give for doing a good job there," Phil answered calmly, keeping his expression bland as he studied his new specialist. Barton was fit and skilled—there was no way he could have made his level without being both of those; the rest remained to be seen.

Clint stared at him. "You do know that I work in the field, right? And so do handlers."

"And a good portion of a handler's work involves research and support over the comms."

Clint started to reply but then paused and really looked at Agent Coulson. Pale skin from working mostly indoors, check. Bland expression, check. Perfectly pressed suit, check. But there was something... something about the eyes and maybe the faintest hint around the mouth. Frowning, Clint extended a hand to shake, and there it was. Those calluses came from handling firearms, not pushing paper.

"I'd think you'd need field experience to know what support's necessary in the field," he said, watching Coulson intently.

A corner of Phil's mouth ticked up the tiniest bit as he watched the thoughts flash behind Barton's eyes, and he set all his pre-conceived notions of the other agent aside when he saw the recognition there. "You would be right in that regard; no one can anticipate everything, but experience in the field helps mitigate issues."

That gained him a very intrigued expression from Clint. "And that's all you're going to say, isn't it." It wasn't a question. "Did I mention that I really like puzzles?"

Skilled, smart and curious—and damn Nick anyway for knowing exactly the kind of specialist to pair him up with. "I'm sure you'll have plenty of opportunities to work on the puzzle that is me during our time together. Now if you're done here, some time on the range might be a good way of getting to know each other better?" Phil paused at that and committed himself fully. "Because when I have an agent in the field, I'm behind them one hundred percent, Specialist Barton. Whatever it takes to help them accomplish their mission and bring them back home."

"Have you considered training the handlers instead of handling specialists?" Clint asked wryly. "Because that hasn't been my experience in the past. Most handlers just seem to want to tell me to shut up." He slung a towel around his neck and grabbed the pack containing his gear, ready to find out how Agent Coulson handled himself on the range.

Phil frowned while Barton's back to him but willed his expression clean before the other man was looking at him. "I know it's in your file, but just how many past handlers have you had?" he asked as they started across the gym toward the door.

"How many missions have I been on?" Clint returned. "I haven't had the same handler twice."

The skin around Phil's eyes tightened, but his expression remained calm. "Well, that's going to change now." And he was going to have a long talk with Fury and each of the handlers Barton had dealt with. "My only question for you—one that I expect I know the answer to—is does your talking too much extend to the active part of a mission?"

Clint smirked. "Only until I have the shot."

A musing hum was the only answer Phil gave, and he remained silent through the elevator ride to the range, only speaking when the doors opened again. "I'd prefer it if we worked our way through a range of weapons. Do you a preference for what we start with?"

Raised eyebrows and a glance at the pack containing his bow clearly asked if Phil seriously needed to ask that question.

"I simply wasn't familiar with you enough to know if you prefer to save your best for last or not."

"Agent Coulson, I always start with my best because nothing else is needed after that."

"Be that as it may, Specialist Barton, at times your best isn't going to be available, so let's go through everything we have."

Clint shrugged easily. "Just because I prefer my bow doesn't mean I can't use any other projectile weapon or even just throw something. I don't miss."

Phil simply raised his eyebrows as they entered the range then nodded toward a target room with a green light over the door. "Then this will be easy for you."

"And how will you do?" Clint asked. "After all, we should both get an idea of what we can do if we're going to be relying on each other out in the field."

"I'll let you make your own observations and draw your own conclusions. My job as your handler is not to think for you; you have your own brains for that."

"Are you sure you're really a handler?" Clint glanced over at him before pulling out his bow and quiver.

"No, I am actually an accountant," Phil said dryly before reaching under his suit jacket and taking his pistol from the shoulder holster, automatically checking the safety and popping the clip to check his loads before snapping it back into place. "As you said, handlers should have field experience, and I know what worked best from your side of the equation."

"I think I'm looking forward to our first mission together," Clint mused. He fired an arrow at the target without looking away from Phil.

The older man slowly turned his head to study the arrow that was sunk dead in the center of the target's smallest ring then looked back at Clint. "It certainly will be interesting," he mused before sighting on the other target and putting a bullet through the same circle Barton had hit.

Clint turned to look at the target too, and a slight smile curved the corners of his mouth. "Looks like it."

He held a hand out for Phil's weapon, which Phil reversed and handed over after flicking the safety on again.

"Just don't expect me to ask for your bow in return; that's one weapon I'm not proficient at."

"Not many people are." Again, Clint fired at the target without looking.

"That's something we'll have to remedy; I don't like the idea of me not being able to use what might be our only weapon at some time." Phil's eyes cut toward the target, and the wrinkles around his eyes deepened with a smile that didn't reach his lips.

"So what other weapons do you want to test me on?" Clint asked, taking note of the mostly hidden smile. "I'll get the same results with anything."

"Not that I don't believe you after that little demonstration, but I'd prefer to see the results myself." As he spoke, Phil took his pistol back and holstered it then swiped his badge over the gun safe. He pulled out a rifle and ammunition, setting both on the table then sending the target back farther.

"Doubting Thomas, huh? That's okay, I'm used to performing on command." Clint reached for the rifle, loading it without hesitation and firing in a single motion.

As Clint did that, Phil was straightening out a paperclip, which he tossed in the air when the younger man turned back to him in expectation. "Catch."

Clint's hand shot out, catching the tiny piece of wire in mid-air. He looked at it quizzically before returning his gaze to Coulson. "Well, you get points for originality."

"I'm taking you at your word, Specialist Barton," Phil answered as he straightened out a second clip and flicked his wrist, embedding it in the wall. "There's your target."

After glancing from Coulson's face to the paperclip, Clint nodded. "Okay. First, I'm impressed that you got enough force with a paperclip to embed it in the wall. And second, what do you want me to hit it with?"

"What I just gave you. Sometimes office supplies are the only weapons at hand."

"Oh, this is going to be a very interesting partnership." Clint grinned at Coulson, and this time he actually turned to look at his target before throwing his weapon. Of course, it landed perfectly, driving the first strand of wire farther into the wall.

Phil actually chuckled at the display, nodding when Clint looked over at him. "Yes, it is. Do me one favor, Specialist Barton; remind me to call a florist when we're done for the day, will you?"

"Uh, sure." Clint blinked in surprise. "Just in case, I like irises, hyacinths, violets and lilacs."

"Glad to know you don't want anything as pedestrian as a rose," Phil mused. "Or is it the color palette that appeals to you?"

Clint grinned. "I like purple. But lavender roses are expensive."

"Then it's a good thing for my budget that I'm not planning on getting you any, isn't it?"

"And here I thought our first date was going so well. Is it because I don't put out on a first date?"

"I'm glad to hear that you aren't that kind of boy, Specialist Barton. Given your propensity for knocking holes in things, I might have been worried otherwise."

Clint burst into laughter. "I wouldn't want to be the person dumb enough to try to knock a hole in you."

"Those people generally aren't breathing," Phil began, holding a hand out for the rifle, "just as I believe the ones who have tried to do that to you in the past are in the same condition."

"It seems a reasonable response," Clint allowed, handing over the rifle. "And how do you feel about not killing people when something isn't right?"

"If a life can be saved without costing others theirs, I prefer that course of action," Phil answered immediately as he removed the clip and checked that no bullets remained before placing the rifle back in the holder. "Indiscriminate killing is a waste of life. I didn't join SHIELD so that I could kill people; I wanted to help people."

That made Clint turn to face him fully, and he regarded Coulson searchingly. "You really mean that. I didn't think people like you really existed."

"There are more than you believe, or so I believe; just look at yourself. You wouldn't have asked me that question if you didn't believe in that yourself."

The tips of Clint's ears pinked, and he turned to stare down the range. "I'm just a shooter."

Phil was silent for a moment, silently cursing the other handlers who had dealt with Clint and made him think that. "Far from it. In the last half hour I have learned that you are much more than just a shooter, Specialist Barton. You're smart, canny and talented. You have your own opinions and aren't afraid to express them; that alone makes you much more than just anything."

The flush spread down Clint's cheeks. "That's just nuts. SHIELD points me the way I point my arrows."

"But there's a difference between being pointed and letting the arrow fly, wouldn't you say?"

"You're a very strange man," Clint decided.

Phil considered that for a moment before giving a small smile. "Well, that's one rung up from being an accountant, I suppose. Now there's some paperwork that has to be filled out, so if you care to come with me?"

"Do people often say no to you?" Clint asked curiously. "Or ever?"

"Very rarely and only a select few," Phil assured him.

"I'll save it up for something more important. After you, Agent Coulson."

"Why thank you, Specialist Barton, if you like coffee, I promise you a cup after the paperwork is done," Phil said as he headed for the door, confident that Clint would catch up with him and shifting slightly to the right to accommodate the agent's dominant hand.

"I like coffee only slightly more than oxygen," Clint assured him. "But some may be necessary to fuel the paperwork if there's a lot."

"Then we can get one before," Phil said easily. "See? I can negotiate."

"You didn't even argue that there's a lot of paperwork. On second thought, will you shoot me if I bolt?"

"Only with a taser."

"Ouch!" Clint pretended to shudder. "You're evil too. I guess the paperwork's the lesser evil. But I'm going to need a lot of coffee."

"I have an extra-large pot in my office," Phil assured him. "You start on the paperwork, and I'll get it brewing."

"This is the start of a beautiful friendship."

***

"You know, this tree is really boring," Clint said after he'd been in it for four hours. "It should come with some entertainment. What do you think, hula girls? Or Chippendales dancers?"

"The first would blend more with the foliage," Phil commented after a moment's silence in which he digested the comment.

There was startled silence from Clint's end before he rallied. "I have no objection to the Chippendales guys in grass skirts."

"I think they would trip since they wouldn't be used to the skirts, and that would make the point of you sitting in the tree moot as it would alert the target."

"Damn, that's a good point. Guess that means you're going to have to entertain me. Tell me a story, sir."

Phil keyed a command into his computer, changing the readout. "I really don't want to put you to sleep, Barton."

"Try that on some of the newbies, Agent Coulson. Tell me about your first field mission."

"My first..." Phil sighed and shook his head though there was no one with him to see it. "That's sure to put you to sleep."

"I sincerely doubt that. Not actually an accountant, I know."

"All right, if I tell you this, then you can tell me how it was that you joined SHIELD next," Phil countered.

"I guess that's fair. So once upon a time, there was a deceptively meek and mild SHIELD agent…"

"Are you going to let me tell this story, or would you prefer to make it up as you go along?"

"I was just setting the stage for you. Please, go ahead."

Phil sighed again, wondering just what it was about Barton that had him doing things he normally wouldn't. "My first field mission was over a decade ago, a simple in and out to Slovakia to help extract a scientist who wanted to leave the country."

"Why do I think it didn't turn out to be quite the simple?"

"Because the times that things go simply in our line of work are few and far between?" Phil asked in return. "I was with a team of six. We got in and contacted her easily enough; in retrospect we should have seen that it was too easy."

"Her? I refuse to believe you fell for a honey trap," Clint scoffed.

"Not my type," Phil answered as he looked more closely at the screen before leaning back again. "She played more the wilting flower who stabbed our team lead in the back the moment it was turned."

"Who was dumb enough to fall for it? In the interest of avoiding missions with an idiot likely to get me killed."

"No chance of that, when I said stabbed in the back, I meant literally. He bled out before we could do anything. Needless to say, the rest of us weren't thrilled with helping her after that." Phil paused at that. "Remember what I said about not killing people when we didn't have to? That time it was necessary."

"No argument here, sir. Anyone who kills one of ours needs to end up very dead, very hard. In fact—" Clint broke off abruptly. "Target acquired. I'm taking the shot."

"Roger that," Phil answered before falling quiet, waiting for Clint's report.

"Target's down. I'm heading for the evac point."

"Understood, will expect you in ten; let me know if anything holds you up," Phil answered as he closed down the equipment in preparation for leaving.

"Gonna have coffee waiting for me?"

"I already know it's the only way I'm going to get a report out of you."

"Oh, there might be a few other ways," Clint purred.

"Chippendales dancers in hula skirts, of course that might be difficult to put on an expense report."

Clint laughed. "I have faith in your ability to come up with creative accounting."

"And here I thought that you didn't believe I was ever an accountant," Phil chuckled. "Oh and Barton, next time you have the shot, take it; you don't need to ask for permission."

"Nice thought but I really doubt my next handler will agree. You seem to be unique."

"Which next handler?"

"Whoever they punish with me next. New handler every mission, remember?"

"Considering that would be myself, I have to argue with the punishment."

Clint was silent for several beats. "Are you saying that you'll be my handler again?"

"Are you willing to work with me again?" Phil asked in return.

"Yes," Clint replied simply after only a moment's consideration.

"Then consider me your handler as long as the situation works for you."

Clint was still rather bewildered by the whole situation, but he didn't think anyone was going to argue with Coulson. "I guess that means I'll hear about more of your missions."

"If it keeps the Chippendales dancers off the reports, I suppose you will."

"You mean I can't have both?" Clint sounded like he was pouting, something that was confirmed when he swung into the passenger seat next to Phil, who immediately pulled away from the building he had been parked in the shadow of.

  

"It's your choice, Chippendales or coffee."

"Coffee," Clint replied instantly. "Lots of coffee."

"See? That wasn't so difficult, was it?"

"Just remember that you nixed the dancers next time I need entertainment."

"Only if you remember they were on the table when your bladder is screaming at you because of all the coffee you drank."

"My bladder would never be so undisciplined."

Phil glanced over at him at that before returning his attention to the road. "So what exactly does your bladder do when it requires your attention?"

"It waits until I have time for it."

Phil gave a shallow smile at that. "Good to know."

Clint glanced at him. "I grew up in an orphanage and then at a circus. I had to learn to control bodily functions as much as possible."

Phil's expression turned more serious again and he nodded. "I'm not going to apologize because that background made you who you are today. My comment was an obviously ill-advised attempt at a joke regarding the fact that you can't use that as an excuse to get out of meetings; that I do apologize for."

"Oh." Clint turned to face him. "That's not necessary, sir. I shouldn't have read more into what you said than you meant. It's going to take a while to get used to a handler who's not looking for weak spots to dig at."

"Of course it's necessary," Phil replied. "I made an assumption, and it was incorrect; it deserves to be apologized for."

"We could go around with this forever, so fine, thank you for the apology. Even though it's not necessary," Clint emphasized. "You can buy me a coffee, and we'll call it even."

"Fair enough though the coffee will have to wait until we're at the safe house. We'll be there in twenty and stay overnight; our flight out is tomorrow at one."

"How long did they think it was going to take to make the shot?" Clint asked. "Well, at least we can get some sleep."

"It wasn't your making the shot that was in question; it was the target's ability to be home and not at his mistress's that was the issue."

"Oh, that's all right then. I won't have to make anyone sorry for doubting me." Clint's grin could only be called evil.

"Considering I'm the one who planned out the extraction, I would hope that wasn't the case."

"I'm impartial in retaliating against people who underestimate me."

"Good to know, I'll watch for projectiles flying in my direction then."

Clint smirked. "I'm more than a one-trick pony, sir."

"Good, then you can make dinner while I make the coffee," Phil said easily.

"Is there any food in the house that I can use to make dinner?" Clint asked. "Because I'm an archer, not a magician."

"Check the clipboard on the back of your seat; the manifest is there," Phil assured him. "There should be plenty of non-perishables, and if it comes to it, you can make the coffee, and I can doctor up the beef stew from the MREs."

"That sounds like something that should be kept for desperate moments." Clint retrieved the clipboard and reviewed the contents. "Yeah, I can work with this. As long as you don't mind tuna casserole."

"Love it," Phil assured him. "And while we eat, you can tell me that story you owe me."

"Not saving it for the next mission. Okay then, I can regale you with the first episode of the Tales of Hawkeye over dinner."

"And for that honor I'll even do the dishes," Phil promised, turning a corner and pulling over to check the security system on the safe house. "Everything looks clean; we should be clear to go in."

Clint eyed him again. "You don't want me to go in first and check it?"

"No, we can check it together."

"We... Yeah, okay, I can do that." Clint was afraid he looked as stunned as he felt.

"Barton..." Phil began before pausing, deciding this wasn't the time or place for the conversation. "So we lock the car down and do a visual check then bring it in."

Clint just nodded, by this point so confused by Coulson that he wasn't even trying to verbalize anything. He followed the other agent's lead, and it wasn't long before they were inside and he was starting dinner.

Phil set a mug of coffee down on the counter next to him and took a sip of his own as he composed his thoughts. "Mind if I ask why you thought I would send you in here alone?"

"Because that's what all the other handlers do. I'm the one with the specialist training."

"Yes, you are, but that doesn't preclude you having backup when it's available. There are times and situations when you will be on your own, but you will never be alone as long as I have something to say about the situation," Phil said calmly.

Clint stared intently at the pasta that was boiling along quite nicely without need for intervention. "Why?" he finally asked.

Phil took another sip of his coffee, his gaze never leaving the younger man. "Because you're my specialist, because I'm your handler and because, most of all, you deserve not to be treated as simply a weapon because that is not the sum of your parts."

"Why are you so different from all the others?" It could have been a way of letting Phil know that he'd misinterpreted the question, but the faintest lessening of tension in Clint's shoulders told another story. It was simply a second question, a plea to understand.

"I wish that wasn't the case; I wish that my mindset was more the rule rather than what seems to be the exception. Most people look at the surface, at the plainest fact about someone and shoehorn them based on that. Your skill as a sniper for instance, to many that defines you, but it isn't all of you; there's no way you would have survived your life if it was.

"Maybe I read too many comics as a child, but one thing that taught me was that everyone is more than their single defining trait. Sometimes it's the parts that are hidden from sight that really make you who you are."

Clint finally turned around to stare at Phil, his confusion clear as he searched Phil's face. "It's like having a real, live Captain America right here talking to me." He shook his head. "How the hell can you be the way you are working for SHIELD?"

A faint hint of a blush colored the tips of Phil's ears at the first statement, but he recovered quickly. "Because it's what SHIELD should be, a shield for those who need it. It can be a weapon, but its main purpose is protection."

"But we kill people. We deal with the worst of the worst every day, and you," Clint laughed softly, helplessly, "you still expect the best of people."

Phil gave the smallest of shrugs at that and picked up the mug of coffee he had set near Clint, offering it to him again. "If you don't give people a chance, the worst is what you're going to get from them. I'm not blind; I know that some people are bad and there's no changing that, but if you don't give people a chance, how are you going to know what they're capable of?"

Clint regarded Phil over his coffee. "You must get disappointed an awful lot." More to the point, he wasn't sure if he could live up to what Agent Coulson seemed to expect.

"Actually it's less than you think; sometimes it's convincing people to look past how they see themselves that's the hardest part."

That gained him a wry look from Clint, who had no trouble following what Coulson was insinuating. "Are you sure it's worth the effort?"

Phil actually smiled at that. "Positive, I swear it and until you do, I'll just keep up my inspirational pep talks since you seem to like them so much."

Clint groaned. "At least you don't have pompons. And now I need to bleach my brain."

"Go back to thinking of the hula skirts; it's probably safer," Phil chuckled. "And for the record I did mean everything I said. I'm not saying I can't lie when it's needed for the job, but when it counts, you're going to get the truth from me."

"That's... a pleasant change," Clint admitted, but his head was tilted slightly, an odd expression on his face as he looked at Phil.

"Please tell me that you aren't imagining me in a hula skirt because that wasn't what I meant."

"I'm supposed to give you the truth, too, right?" Clint grinned at him.

"In this one instance, no, otherwise, yes."

"It's hard to look badass in a hula skirt."

Now it was Phil's turn to look as if he was seeing something different. "You'd be surprised though don't ask Agent May about the incident if you see her."

"Ag— No, sir!" Clint shook his head hard and focused on opening cans of tuna. "Can I ask for that story on a mission?"

"Yes..." Phil answered slowly, contemplating his coffee and whether Melinda would strangle him. The odds were in favor of no, but it never hurt to hedge the bet a little. "The first mission that we have that ends up with you in a blind in the snow. The thought of a tropical resort will hopefully warm you up."

"You know that I'm going to remember that, right?" Clint glanced up from his casserole preparation.

"I wouldn't expect anything less," Phil assured him as he pulled down a pair of plates from the cupboard and went about setting the table, a task that only took a minute. "Need any help with anything there?"

"Naw, it's all good. Just need to put it in the oven for a little while and we can eat." With the casserole dealt with, Clint leaned back against the counter, glass of water in hand. "Wish we were home though. I'd love a beer right now."

Phil set his mug down and crossed over to the refrigerator, pulling out a bottle then seeming to reconsider and taking a second as well. "We're buttoned up for the night, and I don't think one beer will affect your aim," he said, offering one bottle to Clint and twisting the top off the second for himself.

After a moment's surprise Clint took the bottle and raised it toward Coulson. "To an interesting partnership."

"Those are always the best," Phil said, clinking his bottle against Clint's before tipping it up to his lips and swallowing down a mouthful. "And since I said I would be truthful to you, I have to admit that I never was an accountant."

"Somehow I'm not surprised. So what were you before you joined SHIELD?"

"A Ranger, lasted two tours before the Army and I had... ideological difference."

"Ranger? Definitely not an accountant then." Clint eyed him but didn't ask for details on the ideological differences. Maybe someday but it was obviously a sore point.

"No, though the persona does tend to help in our line of work."

"Do people actually buy it for more than a few minutes?" Clint dished up the casserole and gestured to Coulson to sit down.

"Remember what I said about people taking the most obvious thing about a person and treating it as sacrosanct?" Phil asked as he pulled the chair back and settled himself in it, setting his beer bottle down and waiting until Clint had seated himself as well to pick up his fork. "Sometimes that works in your favor."

"Yeah, I think it's a little late for me to try that route," Clint pointed out. "Though if people are dumb enough to believe it of someone who was a Ranger, maybe not. I may have been overestimating the average person."

"People see what they want—or expect—to see." Phil didn't add 'like your last handlers,' but the words were there. "That's part of undercover work."

"Use their blindness? Yeah, I guess. It works out for us, though it doesn't say much for the human race."

"When you're undercover, the ones you're trying to convince you're something you aren't usually aren't worth being called human."

"True, but I was thinking more of the supposedly observant agents at SHIELD and you."

Phil inclined his head at that, conceding the point and forked some of the tuna casserole into his mouth. "This is good; I think that you're going to cook after all our missions."

Clint's eyebrows rose. "Do I get a special apron too?"

"I'll be sure to pack it in my gear," Phil promised easily. "And I promise to do the dishes as well."

"Sounds like a fair trade," Clint agreed. "And for the apron, remember that I like purple."

Phil ate another bite and nodded. "I knew that."

"Do you ever forget anything?" Clint leaned back in his chair, regarding Phil thoughtfully as they ate.

"I do at times, not things that matter though. So what about you, Clint Barton? I know the facts of your history; why did you join SHIELD, and why did you stay when you were treated as you were?"

"Because of what it's supposed to be. Regardless of how some people act, we make a difference, and a lot of innocent people would die if we weren't here. That's why I stay."

"And that's what makes the difference. You're what SHIELD should be, Specialist Barton, and I'd rather have you under me on a mission than any ten others."

"Well, I guess we're going to see how that works out. You're a lot better than the other handlers I've worked with."

"It doesn't sound as if that takes much."

"Well, no, but I think you'd still be better if they were good." Clint's smile was almost shy for an instant before he took another swallow of beer.

Phil inclined his head in thanks for the compliment as he ate more of the casserole and steered the conversation in other, more general directions as they continued their meal.

***

"I'm on to you." The words were said after the door shut in Nick's office and Phil was standing across from his desk.

Fury finished reading the report he'd been almost done with before the interruption before looking up. "About what exactly?"

"What you did giving me Barton." Phil regarded his boss and friend, his expression remaining bland as Fury's eyebrow rose over his patch.

"I paired up a difficult asset with a handler who should be able to handle him."

"I won't bother to tell you that letting the handler know the reasoning behind the assignment would have been preferable."

"My only reasoning was that everyone else wants to kill him after five minutes, but I thought the famous Coulson calm could survive him."

"Famous?" Phil scoffed. "Hardly. And I plan on having long conversations with Specialist Barton's prior handlers regarding their handling of their charges."

"So you've decided to keep the puppy that followed you home? Try not to decimate the agency, Phil."

"Including the person who assigned him to people who obviously are idiots? I thought we believed in independent thinking, Nick."

"We do, but our agents also need to be able to follow orders when it's necessary. Which you know damn well." Fury scowled up at him, an expression that didn't cow the other man as he simply stared back at Nick, his eyebrows raised.

  

"I do, but I'd rather have an agent disobey a bad order than die following a stupid one."

Fury's scowl deepened because he couldn't argue with that without lying—not that he minded lying, but Phil would call him on it. "He's all yours then. Whichever way it turns out," he growled.

One corner of Phil'S mouth quirked in response to that. "You wouldn't have given him to me if you had any doubt as to how it was going to turn out."

"Maybe I was teaching you an object lesson."

Phil snorted quietly. "You were being an asshole."

"You should be used to that by now. It's how I run this whole damn agency."

"Which doesn't excuse you from being an asshole so don't expect me to thank you."

"Every boy needs a pet. Go housetrain yours." Fury turned his attention back to the file in front of him.

"He's housetrained; maybe you should have learned more about him before giving him to all those idiots," Phil said mildly before turning toward the door. "Enjoy the paperwork, Nick."

Fury smirked at the door after Phil left. "I always learn everything."

***

Clint walked into Coulson's office soon after he reached it, not bothering to knock before going in and sprawling on the sofa.

"Your report was too short," Phil commented without looking up from his computer. "'Saw target, shot him' is not descriptive enough."

"It's what happened." Clint shrugged. "What else is there to say?"

"Three hundred words at least, Specialist Barton. Describe the target's henchmen, the location and the prevailing wind if necessary. Leave information in case someone else has to go back to the location in the future and take out your target's associates."

Clint rolled his eyes. "If someone has to go back, they'll send me, and I already know all that."

"Us," Phil said absently. "But no, they won't. You took out the main threat; a team will be fine cleaning up the loose ends."

"They've never sent anyone else after me before. I always got sent back," Clint said in case it wasn't clear to Coulson.

"That won't happen again." Phil finally looked up, his gaze locking with Clint's to emphasize the statement. "You won't be wasted that way again.

"But... what do I do when I'm not on missions?"

"Train yourself, train junior agents, relax," Phil suggested. "SHIELD isn't meant to regulate every moment of your life."

"The others freaked if I wanted to go out for a burger."

Phil regarded him steadily for a moment before giving a small shrug. "That depends what kind of greasy spoon you're going to get a burger from. If it isn't the appropriate level of greasiness, I will have to disagree as well."

Clint beamed at him. "I like Ada's Diner. Do you know it?"

"Bacon cheeseburger with Swiss as often as my cholesterol count can stand it."

"With cheddar and fried onions. And the best milkshake I've ever had." Clint was nearly drooling just thinking about it.

"Chili cheese fries," Phil countered, "and you're making me hungry."

"So let's go get some."

Phil flicked his gaze down to his laptop then to Clint again. "Give me five minutes and the promise that you'll edit your report once we're back."

"That's dirty," Clint grumbled. "But fine, I'll rewrite the damn thing."

"It's not as if I'm asking you for something you can't do," Phil pointed out. "Just write down what you saw."

"I hate writing," Clint practically whined.

"What's your favorite flavor of milkshake?" Phil countered.

"Mocha, of course. Chocolate and coffee, it doesn't get better than that."

"Well then, I know your order; I also know that you can write perfectly well when you want to."

"You're a real bastard. That calm accountant mask hides a real sonofabitch." But for all his grumbling, Clint was fighting a grin.

"And the clueless sniper hides a sharp, tactical mind," Phil mused as he went back to his report. "Large or extra-large milkshake?"

"Do you really need to ask? And do you have a spare laptop or tablet here, or do I have to write this report by hand?"

"Which do you prefer? There's no point in writing a report by hand just to have it transcribed."

"Either tablet or laptop is fine. I learned how to type a long time ago."

"And let me guess; typing on that sofa is more comfortable for you?" As he spoke, Phil finished typing and saved his document.

"You don't think this is more comfortable than that inquisitor style chair of yours?"

"It's a perfectly comfortable ergonomic chair; that sofa is sprung and worn."

"This sofa is broken in and comfortable."

"Feel free to use it whenever you'd like then."

"I plan to." Clint grinned at him, somehow managing to slouch even deeper into it.

Phil shut down his computer and stood, giving Clint an arch look as he did. "That comfortable that you don't want that shake?"

Phil had barely finished speaking before Clint was on his feet. "Ready whenever you are, Agent Coulson sir."

"That would be now, Specialist Barton."

Clint headed for the door. "Then keep up, Agent Coulson. I'm hungry!"

***

Moscow, Russia

January 2005

Phil raised his gaze from the plans spread out on the rickety table in the center of the safe house they'd arrived at yesterday, his mouth twisted in a frown.

"This is going to be very tight. Abashidze is paranoid, and his house is patrolled by a dozen guards at all times. We have a shot, but it's a slim one and involves the fact that one of the guards on the eleven to six shift has a pregnant wife. I'll convince him that she's in labor and that he needs to leave immediately, and that will give you your window."

Clint nodded. "That's all I need. Though I still don't see why we're bothering with this guy. He's in exile and powerless. If someone wanted to deal with him, a year ago would have made more sense. But then when do these things ever make sense?" he ended with a shrug.

"This time I have to agree with you, but this is the mission, so we're going to see it through. I don't think the world is going to cry because he's gone.

"According to the intel we have, the guards circle at five minute intervals, but I'd rather have you on-site to watch the shift rotation and make sure of that." As he spoke, Phil pointed out the general routes the guards took around the property, leaving it to Clint to bring up where he thought his best vantage places were.

"Here," Clint decided, pointing at the roof of the small building where the guards were housed. "This way I see them all and can decide the best way to get at Abashidze."

"All right," Phil nodded, agreeing with Clint's reasoning. "I want you in position by eight; I'll monitor their communications and keep you apprised of anything out of the ordinary. Their vehicles are stored next to the building, so you'll be able to see when the father-to-be leaves."

"And are you going to keep me entertained between eight and eleven?" Clint smirked at his handler. "You wouldn't want me to get bored up on that roof."

"I don't see any snow outside, so you still aren't getting that hula skirt story."

"You're just no fun at all, sir. Fine, then tell me about the craziest mission you ever had with Agent May," Clint requested, proving that he'd gotten into Phil's files at least enough to know he'd been partnered with May.

Phil straightened up and arched his eyebrows at Clint. "Once you're in position and concealed," he countered.

"You know, I really am okay with bribery," Clint observed. "Just keep in mind that you have to continue what you start."

"I've told you the end to all the mission stories that I started," Phil protested.

"I meant that when you go the bribery route, you eventually have to up the offer," Clint explained, a devilish glint in his eyes.

"Oh, I know that; I have contingency plans."

"Now that sounds interesting."

Phil reached for the printouts on the table and began to roll them up. "I'll just let you think about that then because you certainly aren't getting any hints to them."

"Tease," Clint laughed. "I'll have to see if I can figure it out then." He checked his gear, nodded to Phil and slipped out to get into position.

"Feel free to keep guessing until then," Phil murmured over the comm line then fell silent, knowing that Clint would let him know when he was settled in—probably by demanding his story.

"Okay, I have a good vantage point. Now, your most interesting mission with May?"

"It was six years ago. She and I had been partnered for two weeks and were sent to infiltrate a sex slavery ring operating in San Francisco. It had ties to the Russia mafia, so it was deemed worthy of SHIELD's involvement.

"We were supposed to be a couple in search of... well, a wild time."

"Ooo, tell me more about your kinky side, sir," Clint demanded, laughter clear in his voice. "I didn't know you had one."

"That's because my job is my life," Phil said dryly. "Telling you stories over the comm is as exciting as it gets."

"That's very sad. You should work on fixing that."

"I'm happy with my life the way it is, but thank you for being concerned," Phil chuckled.

"So what kind of wild time did you and May find?"

"A room full of people who thought their money could buy them everything, including underage girls and boys. Apparently, Agent May's ancestry also made them think that she had been part of a past auction. I was worried at the time about her holding her temper, but she stayed as cool as ice; in all honesty I was the one who had more of a reaction."

"I can't imagine not having a reaction to that," Clint said honestly. "People who mess with kids don't deserve to live."

"You and I are in total agreement on that subject, but at the point, Agent May and I had to let them live so that we could get closer to the ones who were providing the kids. We have pictures of the attendees, and most of them suddenly found themselves part of a government probe after Melinda and I were done with our end.

  

"It wasn't an evening I would want to live again, but after several hours I was able to get into the back area while Agent May distracted the muscle on the floor by starting a fight with one of the trophy wives."

"Geez, May against a bimbo, was there anything left of the arm candy when she was done?" Clint shook his head, unable to imagine it.

"I think the hardest part for her was making it last long enough for me to get to the security room and take down the guards then stick the security feeds into a loop for the back halls."

  

Phil paused while he studied the feed from the cameras they had in place before continuing. "Once that was done, I got back to the main room and soothed my distraught wife while the other woman continued to wail and screech; it was quite a scene."

"I'm glad you didn't say your wife wailed and screeched; that might have broken my brain." Between one breath and the next, Clint's tone changed from teasing to all business. "First shift change, twelve guards in, twelve out. Confirmed that they patrol in pairs."

"Give me a mark for their timing," Phil answered immediately, and Clint did.

Within two minutes he added, "All patrols out of visual range now."

Phil waited for the next call and checked his watch. "That's thirty seconds. Give it half an hour and I'll contact the father to be."

"Understood, sir." Clint relaxed in his comfortable nook on the roof, waiting patiently until it was time to move.

The comm stayed relatively quiet after that with Clint quietly reporting the movements of the guards and Phil murmuring his acknowledgement; then after thirty-seven minutes there was a flurry of motion as the expectant father raced for the garage.

Clint reacted instantly, making for the momentarily weak spot in the patrols. "I'm inside," he murmured once he'd slipped through the rear door. He made his way silently to the master bedroom and took out his target. "Mission accomplished, making my way out."

And that was when it all went to hell.

They'd known that Abashidze wasn't alone, but no one had realized that his guest's arm candy was there to kill her companion. In a spectacular example of bad timing, she and Clint took out their targets at the same time and nearly collided when making their exits. The woman made use of Clint's unexpected presence to clear herself of suspicion, screaming and rousing the guards.

Clint took out several, but it was an impossible situation, and the night ended with him captured.

Chaos erupted on the comm line then broke up into static, leaving Phil cursing quietly and watching as the compound lit up and guards scurried into position, their guns raised. Several cars almost immediately left the compound, but the majority of the guards stayed on site, a fact Phil noted as he gathered his gear.

  

The line crackled to life every so often, Clint's back-talk at least letting him know that his specialist was alive. This was going to be fast, and it was going to be messy, but damned if Phil was going to leave Clint there on his own.

"You know, you guys could use a good interior decorator," Clint observed, then spat out blood when one of the guards backhanded him. "Seriously, this place is really drab."

"Don't worry, you won't be seeing it much longer," a different guard growled in heavily accented English. "Who sent you here?"

"The fashion police, of course."

That earned Clint another blow, this one splitting his lower lip, then the beating began in earnest with all four guards taking part.

Clint took the beating—it was far from his first, after all—without telling them anything. He allowed himself to cry out when a particularly vicious blow landed, but that was the only sound he made. He was going to die here, but he'd accomplished his mission. He wasn't the worst agent SHIELD ever had, so that was something.

Suddenly the door crashed open and the guards dropped to the floor, one after the other, all before they could fully turn around. The door swung shut, and a hand grasped Clint's chin, tilting his head up. "Clint. Look at me. I'm going to get you out of here, but I need you to focus. Do you understand me?"

"Wow, now I'm hallucinating? I didn't think they hit me that hard." Clint slumped in his bonds, unable to believe this could possibly be real.

"If you can back-talk, they can't have hit you that hard," Phil countered, his easy tone at odds with the concern that tightened the corners of his eyes and mouth. "I'm going to cut you loose now, Clint. Can you stay upright, or do you need support?"

"Wait, you're really here?" Clint managed to sit up straight, regarding Phil in befuddlement. "Why?"

"To get you, of course. Do you really think that I would let them do anything to you that I could prevent?" As he spoke, Phil crouched down and began to cut through the ropes that bound Clint's wrists and ankles, reaching out to press a hand to his chest when he swayed forward.

  

"Take a minute and get your bearings, then you're going to have to walk. I wasn't able to get your bow, but I already had R&D working on another one for you, so I'll just put the screws to them when we get back."

Clint scowled and pushed to his feet. "Where the hell could they have taken my bow? No one left... that bitch!"

Phil twisted up to his feet as Clint moved, getting his shoulder under the younger man's arm to keep him from sagging and pressing his extra gun into Clint's left hand. "We'll deal with whoever took your bow later. Right now we're getting you out of here, do you understand, Specialist Barton?"

"Yes, sir, I'm good." Clint allowed himself to lean on Phil, trusting him for support as they made their way out. He whistled softly at the bodies littering the hall. "Totally badass, sir."

"You aren't good, but you're alive, and that's what's important," Phil corrected grimly as they made their way toward the outer door, passing more bodies on their way, some bearing wounds that weren't from bullets.

"You really mean that." Clint managed a smile. "It's... nice to know someone has my back."

"You have my word that will always be the case," Phil promised as they reached the outside door, and he shouldered it open to reveal more bodies and a black SUV sitting near the door. "The outside is clean, so once we get you in the car, we're clear."

"Not quite the quiet departure we planned, is it?" Clint asked wryly. "I guess we'll have to work on that."

"We've managed them before, I'm sure we'll do so again," Phil assured him, getting Clint over to the passenger side of the SUV and helping him in before vaulting over the hood to get in the driver's side door. In short order they were moving, and the distance between them and the compound was growing, an explosion rocketing through the building once they were clear of the perimeter.

After a few minutes, Clint turned his head to stare at Phil. "I didn't expect you to come in after me. In fact, I'm pretty sure there are regulations against it, you being a senior agent and all."

Phil frowned at that, his jaw working though he didn't take his eyes off the darkened road, not wanting to chance a crash that could further injure Clint. "You're my specialist. I meant it when I said that I would do everything in my power to get you back home, and that includes breaking rules that shouldn't exist in the first place to get you back if something happens that is out of your control."

"So if I'd screwed up, you'd have left me there?" Clint couldn't resist the comment, but his tone was teasing, making it clear that he already knew better.

"Specialist Barton, you're mine; I'm not leaving you anywhere."

There was a long moment of silence before Clint finally spoke. "I guess I'd better make sure to avoid situations where you need to come in after me then."

"That would be for the best and would save on ammunition," Phil allowed. "Now just where are you hurt the worst?"

"They liked body shots," Clint admitted. "Probably cracked a couple of ribs."

"So we'll start with checking those out when we get to the safe house. I can't give you anything too strong until we're evacced, but I can scan them and wrap them up enough to give you some support. Looks like they got some good head shots in too; how's your vision?"

"It's fine. A couple of teeth are loose, but they didn't manage to knock them out. A few days soft foods and they'll be fine again."

"Not fine," Phil argued. "Hard enough to loosen teeth is hard enough for a concussion. You and I are going to be up a lot for the rest of the night, and when we get back to base you're getting a CAT scan and dental X-rays. You can't enjoy a milk shake if your teeth are in pain from the cold because of cracked roots."

Clint groaned. "They punched me in the mouth to try to get me to shut up. That does not cause concussions," he argued.

"Your mouth is attached to your jaw which is attached to your skull. CAT scan."

"Knee bone connected to your leg bone. Leg bone connected to your ankle bone," Clint sang. "You're a worrywart, Coulson."

"One of us has to worry about your health, and since you don't seem to, that leaves it to me. Before you argue that, I understand that injuries happen the field, but you need to understand that receiving good medical care for them once you're out of the field is non-negotiable."

"I'm not going to win this one, am I?" Clint sighed. "Fine, Mom, I'll go to medical when we get back. Scout's honor."

"Thank you," Phil answered. "I know that wasn't easy for you."

Having expected a comment about never being a Boy Scout, Clint was startled by Phil taking him at his word, and he bit back a groan. Now he was actually going to have to go to medical. "You make me do the weirdest things," he sighed.

"Taking care of yourself is not weird."

"Going to medical is!"

"So I'm weird, am I?"

"Was that ever in question?"

"Hrmm, I suppose being thought weird is better than being thought of as a robot," Phil allowed, keeping the conversation going for the thirty minutes it took them to get to the safe house, giving Clint a stern look as he parked. "Stay there until I check the perimeter – and no arguments."

Clint rolled his eyes. "I'd hate to imagine what you'd be like if I was seriously injured."

"There would have been more first aid and breaking of the speed limit to get to help," Phil allowed before climbing out of the car and vanishing into the dark, re-emerging fifteen minutes later with a terse nod.

"All clear, let's get you inside."

Clint swung out of the car and scowled at Phil for the look he got. "I got hit in the head. My feet are fine."

"Ribs," Phil pointed out, getting his shoulder under Clint's arm. "Between the two that's a call for support."

It was obvious Clint wasn't going to win this battle, so he conceded. "If you want to half carry me around, who am I to argue with you?"

"You're walking under your own power; I'm just providing assistance," Phil said as they reached the door, and he pressed his hand to the hidden scanner, letting them in. "It's probably easiest to do this in a hard-backed chair then get you to bed," he mused, angling Clint toward the kitchen and easing him down into the chair in question. "Let me grab the med kit then I'll be back to help you out of your shirt if you need it."

"Yes, sir, whatever you say, sir." Clint was amused by the whole thing. He'd had far worse injuries than this and had never needed medical attention, but nothing stopped a determined Phil Coulson.

"I'd enjoy hearing you say that more if it wasn't for that sarcastic lilt," Phil called back over his shoulder though there was no censure in his tone. Sarcasm meant Clint probably was feeling better than he looked, but Phil wasn't taking any chances, not when there wasn't a need.

He returned within minutes, carrying a large med kit and couldn't help his lips twitching when Clint goggled at it. "Don't worry; it's not all for you."

"I hope not or I'd look like I was starring in a remake of _The Mummy_!"

"You'd be much neater than Imhotep, I promise," Phil replied as he set the kit on the table, arching an eyebrow as he looked down at Clint. "Want me to cut you out of that shirt?"

Clint's eyebrows rose as well. "Not unless you're making unexpectedly kinky advances," he replied dryly. "In general I'd prefer to have clothes to wear when we leave." He took hold of the bottom of his T-shirt and pulled it over his head before Phil could stop him. "See, fine," he said, ignoring the twinges in his ribs that told him he should have gone more slowly.

Phil's raised eyebrows spoke volumes. "Yes, that wince was nothing at all. There are changes of clothes here for both of us as you well know; the loss of one shirt wouldn't have broken the budget."

"But I like this one," Clint protested, widening his eyes at Phil. He brandished the shirt, which looked like plain black until the light hit it just right to show that it was actually a very dark purple, or as the very persistent salesman had informed him, "It's aubergine."

"It's blood-stained, and taking it off aggravated your rib injury. If it's that important, I'll buy you another one when we get back to the States."

Clint sighed. "You'd understand my fondness for it if it was office supplies."

Phil chuffed out a laugh even as he studied the bruises that were rising on Clint's torso closely. "I do not have an unnatural fondness for office supplies, as you should know by now."

"You are the only person I know who makes a habit of killing people with them," Clint pointed out.

"If they're what's expedient, yes," Phil allowed as he turned to the med kit and pulled out a vial of pills. "Take two of these, and I'll start cleaning you up; then I'll wrap your ribs."

Clint sighed again but knew it was pointless to argue with Phil. He dry swallowed two of the pills and handed the vial back. "At least you're better than medical."

"And why is that?" Phil asked as he pulled out a packet of wet wipes and ripped it open then slowly wiped one along Clint's side, cleaning the abrasions from his beating.

"You're not going to try to make me lie in bed for days on end while you keep poking at me and waking me up whenever I get to sleep."

"Tonight you get the every hour on the hour treatment; after that you can sleep," Phil promised. "As for lying in bed, I know you won't, so I'm not going to bother trying to make you."

"See, smarter than medical. Even if you won't let me sleep either."

"My heart bleeds for you, Barton," Phil murmured as he reached for the elastic wrap, holding it against Clint's chest before reaching around him to secure it in place. "I would prefer to keep your brains whole, so lack of sleep for the immediate future is in both our futures."

"And just how exactly are we going to pass the time to keep ourselves awake?"

"Bridge? Pinochle? Charades?" Phil suggested as he concentrated on wrapping the band around Clint's chest.

"Did we suddenly turn into geriatrics?" Clint stared at Phil's bent head.

"Well, I don't think your ribs are up to Twister."

Clint laughed. "No, but I'll bet I could take you otherwise."

As Phil sealed the wrap into place, he nodded. "I'm not arguing the fact that you could, though possibly not by as wide a margin as you believe."

"A challenge! Well, if we ever manage to both not be injured at the same time, I'll take that challenge."

Phil let out a low laugh as he reached for a fresh wipe and tilted Clint's head back so that he could clean the abrasions on his face. "I'll book a training room when that happens."

"It's a date." Clint grinned at him. "Loser buys the winner dinner."

"At least the place is easy, and Ada's is open twenty hours a day."

"Oh hell, now I want one, and it's all your fault," Clint grumbled.

"I'm a bad influence, I know," Phil answered as he tilted Clint's chin up, pausing for a moment before their gazes met then continuing with cleaning the younger man's abrasions. "I'll see what I can make us to eat once we're done here."

"You mean you're cooking this time? I hope you know I have high standards."

"I assure you that I can defrost microwave meals with the best of them," Phil promised as he reached for a butterfly bandage and secured it on Clint's brow.

"Then I guess we'd better hope we have some of those," Clint said, chuckling.

"We do," Phil murmured. "Who do you think planned this mission?"

"You order groceries too?"

"I plan the mission; that includes the supplies."

"That's very efficient of you, sir. So next time, will you make sure we have pancakes?"

"I can make them for you in the morning," Phil promised. "Breakfast I can make."

"That may just make up for you not letting me sleep tonight."

"You'll survive," Phil promised. "I won't keep you up for long when I wake you up; I'll just check your pupils."

"I apologize now if I punch you while I'm still asleep."

"If you hit me, you can apologize."

Clint grinned. "Yes sir, Agent Coulson, sir. I feel like I should be asking for a handicap."

Phil chuckled at that before tipping Clint's head back so that he could study the dilation of his pupils. "We won't worry about that at this time, Clint."

Clint's eyes widened when Phil called him by name, and he remembered that Phil had done the same while rescuing him. "Not at this time?" he asked, trying not to show his response.

"Not when you're partially concussed," Phil elaborated as he let go of Clint's head. "Once you're better, we can spar."

"Sounds like fun... Phil." Clint added the name hesitantly, watching for Phil's reaction.

One corner of Phil's mouth ticked upward in a smile at that, and he caught Clint's chin in his grasp, gently tilting his head so that he could study the bruising on his cheekbone. "Then we'll schedule it in when we get back to base."

Clint kept staring at Phil even as he turned his head. He thought he was reading Phil right, but it was something so outside of anything he had ever expected that he couldn't be sure. And he was afraid to be wrong. "So sparring, Twister, and dinner?" he asked cautiously.

"I thought in this case the sparring was Twister," Phil commented before he finally let Clint's face go, scooting back to close up the med kit. "And dinner is a given as it always is after a mission."

"Good point. Do you even know where we can get a Twister game?"

"I'm sure I can requisition one from somewhere."

"I want to see Director Fury's expression when he sees that requisition," Clint laughed. "It'd be worth whatever he did to me afterward."

"Which would be nothing as I would have been the one to make the requisition. Do you want to go lie down, or do you trust me to make you something to eat?" Phil asked as he stood.

"I'll watch you make dinner," Clint decided. "It'll be the show to go with the meal."

"I'm sorry that I didn't pack sequins," Phil snorted as he crossed over to one of the duffels they had brought with them and pulled out a change of clothes for Clint. "Do you need help with this, or can you manage?"

"I've been dressing myself for several years now, Phil," Clint informed him. "And for the record, if you're wearing sequins, a feather boa is required."

"Don't forget the heels, and you have cracked ribs; I would prefer you not injuring yourself more than has been done already."

"Fine, if it will make you happy, you can help me put a new T-shirt on," Clint said, clearly humoring him.

"Yes, it will make me happy to have you not injuring yourself further," he said dead-pan before dropping the jersey pants on the table beside Clint and shaking out the shirt then eyeing it. "Of course something with buttons would be easier."

"I didn't bring anything with buttons. I'm not even sure I own any shirts with buttons."

"I have several, so you're more than welcome to one."

Clint blinked at him. "I... uh, thank you."

"You're welcome," Phil answered with a shallow nod before turning back to the duffel and pulling out a neatly folded, white, button down shirt. After shaking it out and unbuttoning the cuffs, he held it out for Clint to stand and slide into it. "If you want me to get your boots, I can do that too; I'm guessing the pants don't need too much twisting."

"Uh, no, I can manage those just fine. And I can get my boots, as long as you're not going to yell at me for bending over."

"That depends, is it going to hurt you?"

"Phil, I have cracked ribs. Breathing hurts right now. But bending over to take my boots off won't hurt much more."

Phil looked as if he was about to argue the point again before he sighed and nodded. "Fine, you know your tolerances best; I'll see what I can come up with for our meal."

"Great, I'll join you in a minute to give you a hand as soon as I change. I can boil water with the best of them."

"You sit. I can manage boiling water and warming pasta sauce," Phil said sternly.

"What, no singing and dancing while you make dinner? I'm disappointed in this floor show, sir."

"Sorry," Phil said dryly, "I forgot my tap shoes and tutu; just me will have to do."

"I was thinking more along the lines of a pole dance."

"I happen to know that you have no dollar bills as you aren't carrying a wallet. Finish getting dressed and come on into the kitchen; coffee should be ready by the time you're here."

Clint laughed. "I'll hold you to that, sir." Once Phil headed for the kitchen, he finally changed, wincing and biting back groans of pain as he moved.

"So is the coffee ready?" he asked by way of greeting when he rejoined Phil.

"Sit and I'll get you some," Phil answered, eyeing Clint closely before reaching for the pot of coffee and a mug, filling it and carrying it over to the table.

"Thanks, sir. Are you sure I can't help with anything?"

"You can help by sitting." Phil paused and looked down at the younger man. "Clint, you've done enough for today, sit and relax, all right?"

Clint opened his mouth to argue, met Phil's gaze, and sighed and sat down. "Can I at least set the table?"

"Not tonight. Let me take care of you, Clint. It's all right to do that."

A faint frown showed Clint's discomfort with the situation, but he nodded. "Are you sure you're a handler and not my long-lost mother?"

Phil cocked an eyebrow at that. "I'm not planning on tucking you into bed, Specialist Barton."

"Too bad," Clint muttered. He immediately fixed his attention on his coffee, and Phil studied him for a moment longer before turning back to the stove to stir the sauce.

"And on that note, you are getting the large bed tonight."

"Phil, we've shared a bed before on missions. There's no reason why we can't tonight too."

"I don't want you to end up with an elbow in the ribs; they're tender enough already."

"You've never attacked me in your sleep before. Is there some reason you'd start now?"

"Shall we say that today's events have me rather edgy?" Phil offered, finally turning to look back over his shoulder at Clint's non-answer. "You're disagreeing with me?"

"I'm not certain you're capable of being edgy."

"You were hurt; that makes me edgy."

Clint could only stare at him, not sure what to say. Finally, he nodded. "Well, I'm not going to knock you out and tie you to the bed. There's plenty of room for both of us, but it's up to you where you're comfortable sleeping."

Phil gave a small smile at that. "Given your condition, I don't think that would be possible. How about we say that we'll see how I feel once it gets to that time?"

"Sure, that's fine. It's not like I'm going to put up a gate around the bed to keep you out after a certain time."

"So glad to hear I'm not going to be in trouble for breaking curfew," Phil chuckled as he turned fully again.

"Breaking curfew means you have to make breakfast too," Clint informed him.

"And I thought you hated my eggs."

"Pancakes."

"Then it's a good thing that there's butter and maple syrup, isn't it?"

"I see your grocery shopping is as thorough as your exfiltration plans."

Phil gave a sad tsk at that. "You mean you haven't learned that in six months of working together?"

"You've never bought groceries for me before, so how could I?" Clint asked reasonably.

"A very valid point, hopefully the pancakes will make up for the bottled sauce tonight."

"I have every confidence in you," Cline assured him. "Plus, I'm hungry."

"The pasta will be ready in two minutes; then you can have all you want," Phil promised as he picked up the coffee pot and carried it over to refill Clint's mug.

"Thanks." Clint caught hold of Phil's wrist, stopping him as he looked up at his handler, meeting his gaze directly. "And not just for the coffee."

Phil looked down at Clint's hand then raised his hand to meet the other man's solemn gaze. "Any time, and I mean that, Clint," he promised. "Keeping you whole means more than just in the field."

"I'm glad you're not because then you wouldn't be in the field with me, but you really should be training the handlers so the others do it right too."

It took a moment for Phil to process the rambling statement, but when he did, he smiled. "I'm working on that as well when we're back at base, and I have Jasper going through data so that we can weed out the real incompetents."

Clint finally looked away and let go of Phil's wrist. "Was there ever any training for handlers, or did SHIELD just pick agents with a certain level of seniority and throw them and the specialists out into the field?"

"Of course there's training," Phil protested before letting out a small sigh. "Training which doesn't seem to have taken into account dealing with unorthodox specialists—and I do not mean that in any way that denigrates you. Yes, SHIELD needs agents who follow the line, but we need agents who can think for themselves, who can adapt to whatever the situation calls for."

"And handlers who don't try to stuff them back inside the lines?"

"Exactly, which is what we're working for."

"Sorry to say but based on my own experience, I don't think it's working out too well. You may want to look into cloning yourself instead."

"Cloning never goes well," Phil commented as he turned back to the stove to take the pasta off the burner and dump it into the colander in the sink. "They turn evil, and then you have to take them out."

Clint blinked at him before snorting a laugh. "Had a lot of experience with that, did you?"

"The easiest way to tell them from the real person is that they usually have a goatee." The pasta went back into the pot then Phil scooped some out onto a plate and ladled sauce over it, carrying it to Clint and setting it on the table.

"I thought those were the mirror universe alternates."

"Hrmm, good point, I must have been confused." Phil's lightning quick smile showed before he turned back to get himself a plate of food as well.

"So if I end up in a room with ten Phil Coulsons, how do I make the real one stand up?"

Phil paused, and his shoulders moved as he chuckled quietly. "You're a smart man, Specialist Barton, I'm sure you'd figure a way."

"Or maybe I'd decide to get the complete set and keep them from going bad." Clint grinned at him.

"Hrmm, I'm sure you could manage to find a way to do that," Phil said under his breath as he fixed himself a plate of pasta and carried it over to the table.

"Of course, that's a lot of feeding and walking, so I guess we'd better table the cloning idea." Clint kicked Phil lightly under the table.

"Probably a good idea, you'd go broke keeping them in Captain America merchandise," Phil mused.

Clint burst into laughter. "I'd need to be as rich as Tony Stark to manage that."

"Richer, they'd prefer quality material."

"Damn, I didn't realize you were so high maintenance."

"I'm a terrible hardship, I know." Phil picked up his fork then and pointed it at Clint's plate. "Now eat."

"Sir, yes sir." Clint took a bite and paused in surprise. "Hey, this is really good."

"I think you're just really hungry."

"Could be," Clint admitted. "But take the compliment. It probably won't happen often."

***

Six months later

"So, any plan for your leave?" Phil asked as he and Clint exited the plane having successfully completed a mission in British Columbia.

Clint shrugged. "Not really. Maybe I'll watch some TV."

"TV? That's generally my response when asked the same question."

"Okay, fine, maybe I'll go to a bar and ignore people trying to pick me up."

"I didn't mean anything derogatory by that; I know down time should be just that." Phil's tone was calm, soothing as he realized Clint was more keyed up from the mission than he had thought.

"And I didn't mean to snap at you. I'm just tired of never having an answer when people ask me that question," Clint said with a faint sigh.

"By that do you mean that there's nothing in particular you want to do or nothing that you can do given the limited time frame?"

"Nothing in particular I want to do and definitely no one I want to it or even do nothing with," Clint admitted.

Phil hummed thoughtfully at that. "Well, if you're in dire need of what I at least call entertainment, I have a DVR full of reality shows and the numbers of the best delivery places in town on my phone."

Clint eyed him. "What about beer?"

"There's a store down the street with an excellent selection of craft brew."

"In that case, you have yourself a squatter."

"If you complain about the shows, you're the one going on the beer runs," Phil mused as they headed toward the car.

"You haven't worked something out where they deliver? Agent Coulson, I'm disappointed in you."

"It keeps me from drinking too much."

"I always figured you for a scotch man."

"Oh, I enjoy some every now and then but for watching hours of reality programming? Beer it is."

"Hours of reality programming?" Clint repeated faintly. "I'm going to need a cart for the first beer run."

"I told you the DVR was full of it," Phil replied mildly.

"I missed the reality program part of it."

"So is that a deal-breaker?"

"No, it just means there'll be a lot more beer involved."

"Well, I suppose we can do that."

"Chinese or pizza tonight?" Clint slowly relaxed in the car, the mission over. Having Phil right there beside him made it easier to let his hyper-alertness fade. Not only would Coulson always have his back, he could see for himself that Phil was unharmed. "Or did you want something else?"

Phil settled his laptop case between his legs and leaned back against the seat, pondering the question over. "Pizza tonight I think; nothing says coming home like that."

"Extra cheese?" Clint wheedled.

"And sausage," Phil promised. "Do I need to give you my address, or have you found it already?"

Clint gave him a big grin. "What do you think?"

"I thought as much; I'll debrief with Fury then meet you there in a few hours. That gives you time to check your own place out as well."

"Nothing to check out, but it'll let me dump my bag and get some clean clothes."

***

Clint looked up with a grin, raising his bottle of beer in greeting as Phil let himself into his apartment. "I picked up a few different varieties. The guy at the store steered me toward your favorites, and I added a few others that sounded interesting."

Phil arched a single eyebrow in response before giving in and smiling. "Did you order the pizza as well, or should I do that before I change?"

"I wasn't sure when you'd get here, so I waited."

"Thanks." Phil reached for his phone as he spoke. "Well then, we'll have about twenty minutes before this gets here; I'd say make yourself comfortable, but by the way you're sprawled on the sofa, you already are."

"It's a good sofa," Clint replied cheerfully. "I may have to come visit it sometimes."

"Claiming it, are you?" Phil asked before calling in the order. "And don't drink all the beer before I get back!" The last was added as he started back toward his bedroom to change.

"You clearly have no concept of how much beer I bought," Clint called after him, laughing.

"Is there room in the fridge for anything else?" Phil yelled back as he stripped out of his suit jacket then got rid of the rest of his sleep-worn clothes, changing into worn, comfortable jeans and a heather-grey t-shirt.

"I left a spot for leftovers. But we'll have to remember to add more beer as we drink some so we don't run out of cold ones."

"We might need some food other than leftovers and beer," Phil pointed out as he walked back out to the living room, passing by Clint to walk into the kitchen. "And are you ready for a second beer?" he added as he reached into the fridge for one for himself.

"Yeah, that'd be good, thanks." Clint shifted his feet onto the coffee table so he wasn't taking up the whole sofa any longer. "And I didn't take out the food that you already had in there, so we do have other food," he pointed out.

"That food is three weeks old; I'm not sure anything is good except the condiments."

"Good point. We may actually have to go out and get some groceries in the morning." Clint shrugged easily. "At least bacon, eggs, and bread for toast."

After setting the bottles of beer on the counter, Phil quickly removed all the out of date food from the shelves, tossing it in the trash. "Milk as well if we want pancakes or French toast one morning." After popping the caps on the bottles, he picked up one in each hand and carried them back into the living room, handing one to Clint before dropping to the sofa beside him.

"So, preference for what we watch or is all of it going to horrify you?"

"I already had one beer to help deal with it." Clint smirked at him. "I'm ready for your bad reality TV."

Phil tilted his bottle back, swallowing several mouthfuls before lowering it and giving a wide grin. " _Supernanny_ it is, then we can move on to _Survivor_ and _Amazing Race_."

Clint stared at him incredulously. "Do you record anything _other_ than reality shows?"

"No," Phil replied easily.

Clint groaned. "Can we at least watch the occasional movie?" he asked, giving Phil a wide-eyed look.

Phil sighed but finally nodded. "I suppose so."

Clint beamed at him. "But not till tomorrow. You've been waiting a while to watch the stuff you have recorded."

The chuckle Phil gave at that was low but fully amused. "If you had caved to that, I would have been disappointed with you."

"This guy I know has been trying to convince me that compromise is the way to go. There may be something to it."

Phil tipped his beer in Clint's direction at that remark. "It makes everyone happy."

"Or everyone equally unhappy," Clint pointed out. "But I guess it depends on the person you're compromising with."

"Hrmm, true, but I prefer to think positively in this regard."

"You are a very unusual person for an agent of SHIELD."

"Which you have told me many times; it's a good thing that I don't get my feelings hurt easily. Now hush so we can watch Jo Frost teach parents how to deal with their unruly children." Phil grinned at the last as he turned on the television and scrolled through the recordings to find the one he was interested in.

A few hours later Clint looked over at Phil and nudged him with a foot. "Just how many hours of this do you have recorded?"

Phil flicked his gaze to the side and offered a wry smile. "Reached burn-out level? How about we clean up the pizza leftovers then we can watch a movie?"

"Yeah, a break would be good. I'm starting to have opinions about these people." He grinned at Phil.

"Watch it," Phil chuckled as he stood and picked up the box and his empty bottles. "Opinions on reality shows lead to addiction."

"Why do you think I wanted a break? I'm a trained agent; I recognize danger when I see it."

"Hrmm, and usually you leap into it."

"Yeah, well, usually you have my back. This time you're the danger."

Phil glanced back over his shoulder as he carried the trash into the kitchen. "When I become a danger, you'll never see me coming."

"It shouldn't be so cool that you're so damn dangerous," Clint chuckled. "How the hell is there not a Mrs. or a Mr. Phil?"

"Given what we do, when would there be time for one?" Phil asked in return.

"We're not always on missions. There's time for Phil when Agent Coulson is off the clock." Clint conveniently ignored the fact that he had no friends outside of SHIELD either.

"This is Phil-time," the other man pointed out as he returned carrying two more bottles. "And considering that you're here on your Clint-time, I think you understand exactly what I mean."

Clint sighed. "You have an annoying habit of calling me on my bullshit."

"Well, I do admit that at times it is entertaining bullshit," Phil allowed as he handed a bottle over to Clint. "And if you want to pick the movie, the DVDs are in the cabinet under the television."

Clint unfolded from the sofa and went to check out the movies, laughing at the first row. " _The Notebook_ , _Lake House_ , and _50 First Dates_? Tell about your love affair with chick flics, Phil." He glanced back and pulled out _50 First Dates_.

"The '40s musicals are in the back," Phil commented easily. "And consider what we do; do I really want to watch movies where I'll spend my time critiquing tactics and ordinance?"

That startled a laugh out of Clint. "Good point. And I actually haven't seen this one, and I heard it's funny."

"It is, and it speaks to the power of perseverance," Phil said, smiling faintly. "Never give up, and you can make anything work."

Clint glanced over at Phil, an odd expression in his eyes, but he didn't say anything. He just nodded and put the disk into the player.

***

Six hours, two movies and half a bag of Oreos later, Phil stretched and pushed himself off the couch. "All right, I'm done for the night. We need to get clean sheets on your bed."

Clint eyed him. "Or you could just offer me the other side of yours."

"We could change the sheets," Phil replied easily.

"Phil, you haven't been here for three weeks, and I would bet every penny I have that you change your sheets every week when you're here, whether you've slept on them or not. How could they possibly need to be changed?"

"Well then, there's no reason for you not to enjoy the comforts of the guest room, is there?"

There was a moment of silence before Clint finally replied. "Maybe I'd rather sleep with you."

Phil paused at that and took a deep breath. "Be that as it may, the guest room is where you'll be staying."

Clint stood up as well, ending up with his back to Coulson. "Yes, sir." He gathered up the empty bottles and carried them into the kitchen without another word.

"Clint..." Phil began before sighing again. Pulling himself upright, he found himself reaching to straighten a tie that wasn't there and forced his arm down before Clint could turn and see the gesture. "I'll take your duffle back to the room for you."

"Thanks, I'll be right there to help you make the bed." By the time Clint rejoined Coulson, he had himself under control and was able to smile at him. "I just hope you're not planning to start watching the reality shows again over breakfast in the morning."

"Would you rather we share the newspaper and discuss the appalling state of the world?" Phil asked as he flipped the top sheet over the bed.

"What's behind door number three?"

"What is it that you prefer to do in the morning?"

"Usually I go for a run, bring back some coffee and a Danish, then have breakfast while I watch the news."

"Well, I usually sleep in the first morning back from a mission, but we can do that."

"Or we could sleep in and then go for a run. There's no time limit on it."

"True." Phil flashed a small smile. "And there's a great bakery we can stop by on the way back."

"Sounds like a plan." Clint returned Coulson's smile. "I'm always happy to find new bakeries. Now if you can find me a shooting range around here that allows bow and arrows, it'll be perfect."

"Hrmm, I'll work on that, but the point of a down week is for it to be a down week," Phil pointed out as he slid a pillow into a case and tossed the other cover to Clint.

"You still haven't figured out that shooting relaxes me? And here I thought you were observant." Clint tossed Coulson a smirk while stuffing the other pillow into its case.

"That's on the job; I hadn't realized it was true on your free time as well. Where do you normally shoot outside of SHIELD?"

"There's a range a couple of miles from my place. It's for guns, but the owner lets me shoot after hours."

"I'll see what I can set up there tomorrow afternoon; that will get you relaxed for _Survivor_." The bed made, Phil straightened up and stepped back. "But first a good night's sleep for both of us."

"Nothing better," Clint replied, an odd note in his voice. "Good night, sir, I'll see you in the morning."

"Good night, Clint," Phil replied as he headed for the door. "Sleep well."

Clint turned and stared at the closed door after Coulson left, an expression of sorrow on his face. It seemed that sometimes wishful thinking was just that, and it was time to move on, so that was what he was going to do. Coulson had made himself perfectly clear, and Clint should count himself lucky that Coulson was willing to be his friend.

***

Clint dragged himself out of bed around 8:30 the next morning and made a beeline for the coffee maker, his eyes still half shut.

"Coffee's ready," Phil called from the kitchen table where he sat reading the paper.

Clint grunted, his whole focus on the coffee. He poured a cup on autopilot and inhaled the steam, his expression almost beatific.

Phil chuckled quietly and nudged the chair across from him out from under the table with his foot. "Sit down before you fall down. Why are you up so early?"

"Woke up. Smelled coffee. Need coffee."

"And now you have coffee, so sit down before you fall down."

Clint grunted again as he sat down. In anyone less athletic, it would have been falling down, but Clint managed to control it and didn't spill a drop of his coffee.

Phil's smile widened and turned fond before he got control of himself again. "Grunt when you need a refill."

Clint managed a half-hearted glare before his attention returned to his coffee. "Good coffee."

"Could you even tell the difference in your current state?" Phil chuckled.

"Yes, bad coffee sucks."

"But bad coffee is still better than no coffee."

"Not at home," Clint grumbled.

"We'll pick up more while we're out; I wouldn't want to deprive you of the comforts of home," Phil promised.

Clint beamed him, awake enough for coherence now. "You're a good friend, Coulson."

Phil chuckled and set the paper aside to sip his own coffee. "Shall I remind you that you said that the next time you complain about an assignment?"

"Ah, but that's Agent Coulson the handler, not Coulson the friend. I always complain about handlers. It's my thing."

"And who do you complain about Agent Coulson the handler to if I might ask?"

"To Agent Coulson, of course. It's not nearly as much fun if I'm not driving him nuts too."

Phil sipped his coffee again before getting up to get a refill, carrying the pot back with him to fill Clint's mug as well. "That happens less than you believe."

"I'll have to try harder then."

"That very idea worries me," Phil answered in a tone that belied his words.

"It should." Clint gave him a tooth-baring grin that had Phil arching his eyebrows before offering a sly smile.

"Bring it on, Specialist Barton."

Clint had to laugh. "I'll remind you that you said that."

"I'll count on it."

"So, think you can keep up with me on a run?" Clint asked, a teasing gleam in his eyes.

"I kept up with you in Barcelona," Phil pointed out before taking his seat again and sipping from his mug.

"Fair point," Clint agreed with a nod. "It'll be nice to run without anyone chasing us or trying to kill us."

"True, or if they do, they'll be a lot easier to take out."

"I'm pretty sure we can get a run and coffee without any life-threatening situations." He snickered suddenly. "Could you imagine someone trying to mug us?"

"I believe trying is the important word in that sentence," Phil chuckled. "Of course it would save an innocent civilian, so perhaps it would be better if they did try with us."

Clint started laughing. "Can you imagine the look on the cops' faces when they show up to arrest the idiot and you start lecturing them on response time?"

"That would depend on their response time," Phil allowed, glancing at his mug and standing again. "Are you ready for a refill?"

"You know me, I never say no to coffee." Clint took another big swallow his coffee to make sure he got as much as possible.

"Just wanted to be sure you didn't want to get running now."

"Nothing comes before coffee, Coulson."

"A mission does," Phil said as he refilled Clint's cup then poured the remains in the pot into his own mug.

"Okay, fine, be logical. But we're not on a mission, so nyah!" Clint stuck his tongue out at Coulson before grinning and drinking more of his coffee.

Phil couldn't help but smile at that as he sat down again. "I'm always logical, and remember, if you keep that sticking out, it will freeze that way."

Clint rolled his eyes. "Yes, Mom. I think we'd better go for that run soon before this conversation gets any worse."

"You might need to change first. Actually we both need to change first because running in sleep pants, or in your case boxers, isn't very comfortable."

"No, I wouldn't think so. Though it would be far from the weirdest things we've worn while running."

***

Oslo, Norway

One year later

"I told you last time that we shouldn't ever come back to this damn city, Coulson," Clint hissed in frustration. "I _told_ you. But here we are again, and this time we're stuck in a damn supply closet! A freaking tiny supply closet! I hate you. I hate SHIELD and I hate you."

Knowing that telling Clint to calm down would just increase his frustration, Phil didn't even try though the idea was tempting as it would get his own mind off their close quarters. "At least we aren't wearing animal costumes," he said mildly, concentrating on the shelf digging into his back and not the younger man in front of him.

"I made a very hot purple tiger," Clint retorted. "I know this because several people told me so. I so coulda gotten laid that mission. I'm still trying to figure out what possessed you to dress up as a beaver though. Weird, Coulson, very weird." And hopefully if he kept concentrating on that mental image, it would distract him from the fact that Coulson was pressed up against his back. Under other circumstances, and if Coulson were actually interested in him, this would be really hot, but as it was, Clint was willing to class it as torture.

"The lime green poodle outfit clashed with your fur," Phil said absently. They had been forced into the closet because of a surprise late night security sweep. Given the need for stealth on this mission, leaving a trail of bodies to the stairs wasn't feasible, so they were counting on the interior security being as sloppy as the exterior version was. Of course the way Clint was fidgeting against him made him wish the mission had been less quiet; a little mayhem would do him a world of good right now.

"Yeah, but the pink and white zebra would have looked good with me."

Clint shifted again, and if Phil moved any farther back, he was going to sever his own spine from the pressure. "It was an homage to Canada; as you recall, it was an international convention."

"An international convention of furries." Clint shook his head. "That's so weird that I don't even know where to start." He sighed. "You know what, I think I had more room in that costume than we do in this closet."

Phil made a soft noise of agreement before forcing himself to speak again. "You did because it was specifically designed to give you room to reach your weapons. And I have no problem with people who choose that lifestyle; it was the drug smugglers I had a problem with."

"Oh, I don't object to the lifestyle, even if I don't see the attraction myself. It was the international convention aspect that weirded me out. When you come right down to it, it's flying around the world to have sex. What's wrong with having it at home?" And why the hell were they discussing sex? It was not helping.

"The convention did include aspects other than sex." Phil took a deep breath which caused his chest to brush against Clint's shoulder blades. "There were educational panels."

"Fuck," Clint whimpered, and he immediately coughed to try to cover it. "Er, Coulson, I know we need to be ready, but could you move your gun? It's digging into me."

Phil was silent for a moment before he worked a hand between them to shift his gun in its shoulder holster, at the same time attempting to twist his hips back and away from Clint's ass, knowing exactly what it was the other man was feeling. "Is that better?"

"Not really," Clint gritted out. "I really hate this closet. I hate these idiots, I hate this mission, I hate this city. In fact, I hate this whole damn country!"

"Clint, I'm sorry, this is on me. I should have planned for this happening." Clint's words had been punctuated by him pushing against the door frame, grinding him back into Phil's body, which in turn caused his erection to fully harden.

A resounding silence filled the closet, and Clint stilled into immobility. "There is no way I am understanding you correctly, Coulson. You made that very clear a long time ago."

Phil frowned at the back of Clint's neck. "Made what clear?"

"That you're not interested in me. You were very polite about it and very clear."

"I never—" Phil paused and took a deep breath, trying to center his thoughts. "I was trying to keep our relationship professional, but as you can obviously tell, that wasn't because I wasn't interested in you."

Clint shook his head. "You don't have to be kind about it, Coulson. I know the way we're squashed in here, no one could avoid a physical reaction, but I'm not going to read more into it. You don't need to worry."

"You do realize that I have been naked with people who looked as if they walked off a movie set and had no physical reaction in the past," Phil murmured, feeling something inside himself settle into place at the knowledge that this was right. "I'm having this reaction because of you, Clint, not because of our proximity to each other. You."

Clint shook his head again, refusing to hurt himself again by hoping. "Not buying it, sir. There's been too many times when you proved the opposite to be true."

"All right, I can't make you believe something that you don't, but think on this if you will; have I ever used you in any way because my telling you a lie in this situation would be doing just that."

"What? No!" Clint somehow managed to turn around despite the close confines. He met Coulson's gaze searchingly. "How the hell did you get from you sparing my feelings to using me? That's nuts, Coulson."

Phil swallowed a groan as his body tightened even more because of Clint twisting against him, but he managed to keep his voice steady. "Sparing your feelings? What are you talking about?"

"Oh come on, it's never been a secret that I... want you, but you turned me down, and that was that, Coulson. I don't know why you've suddenly decided to pretend otherwise. Oh hell, it was last week in Istanbul, wasn't it? Look, it was the mission; I didn't expect you to think I was pining for you or something."

"Clint, pretend I have no idea what you're talking about and explain to me when you seriously propositioned me and I turned you down. Please."

Clint stared at him. "Did someone drug you? Did you hit your head? Okay fine, whatever. Last year, when I stayed at your place when we were on leave. I asked, you said no."

"That was serious?" Phil wasn't sure if he should laugh or cry at learning this but knew it wasn't the time for either. "I had no idea; I thought that you were joking."

"Why the fuck would I joke about that? Hell, it took me months to nerve myself up to ask, you're so far out of my league."

"You joke about sleeping with people all the time! As for being out of your league, you're very wrong in that—" Phil's phone gave a muted beep, and he hissed out a curse under his breath. "We need to move, but we will be continuing this conversation once we're done here."

Clint looked like he wasn't sure whether to be pleased or worried by that, but he simply nodded. For now, the mission was the important thing. He got himself turned around again so he was facing the door, though he was unable to prevent a groan this time at the sensation.

He took a deep breath to settle himself and eased the door open, relieved to find the corridor empty so he could finally step out of the tiny closet.

Once the way was clear, the mission went off without a hitch, the two of them infiltrating the supposedly secure office and retrieving the data they needed. They secured the plans they had been sent in for and made it out of the building without the security being any the wiser.

Once the plans had been delivered to a secure courier, Phil drove them to a secluded parking lot in the Vigeland Park and parked the car, half turning in the seat so that he could look at Clint.

"All right, before we have this discussion, allow me to say this one thing; if I had known that you were being serious... Well, water under the bridge, but Clint, I— you're very important to me in more ways than agent and asset, in more ways than as friends."

Clint half turned to face Coulson, clearly unsure of what to say or how to react. "I— I'm having trouble believing this, Coulson."

"Why?" Phil asked. "Why is it so hard to believe?"

"Because you already turned me down. Or at least that's the way it seemed to me," Clint added hastily before Phil could correct him. "And it hurt."

Phil nodded at that, remaining silent as he digested Clint's words. "I'm sorry that was the case; I never meant for that to happen."

Clint's gaze fell to his lap as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I never doubted that, sir."

"But that doesn't negate the fact that it did and that by causing it to happen, I hurt you."

Still not looking up, Clint shrugged slightly. "You can only feel what you feel. Better saying no than lying."

"And I hurt myself because I've been lying to myself, trying to convince myself that what I felt for you was simply the protectiveness of a handler for his asset. It isn't."

Clint's head jerked up, and he stared at Phil. "Really?"

"It isn't," Phil repeated. "I know that people compare me to a heartless robot, but I have a heart; I know it because you're lodged in it so firmly I don't think that I'll ever pull free."

That startled a short laugh out of Clint. "You make me sound like one of my arrows and about as pleasant."

"It was meant as a compliment. I think you can tell that romantic wooing isn't my strong point."

"Good thing I'm not a romance and flowers kind of guy then." Clint took a deep breath and leaned toward Phil, brushing their lips together in a very tentative kiss.

Phil made a small, involuntary noise before reaching up to cup the side of Clint's face, pulling him back in for a more lingering kiss. "A very good thing, but you are perfect for me," he murmured.

"God, Phil, if this is a dream, I'm going to be really pissed when I wake up."

"If it was a dream, it wouldn't have taken us being crammed in a closet to realize how stupid I was."

"Well, actually, I've had a lot of dreams that involved us stuck in a tight space," Clint admitted.

"If you'd like, we can go into the closet at the hotel, though that's slightly more spacious than what you're thinking of," Phil offered, smiling as he caressed Clint's cheek with his thumb.

Clint laughed. "I think I'll be okay with the bed. Though if you have some sort of attachment to closets, I'm flexible. Hell, I could work with right here."

Phil seriously considered the suggestion before shaking his head. "There's a chance for interruption here, and, no matter how slight it is, I won't risk it. I want us to be able to concentrate fully on each other and not any stray noises outside."

"I like the sound of that. It's just that part of me still thinks that you're going to change your mind if you have time to think about this," Clint admitted.

"Well then," Phil promised, "I'm going to have to do my best to convince you that isn't true once we're back at the hotel."

"That sounds really good," Clint said, a smile brightening his face. "Especially since I know how much of a perfectionist you are."

"Keep talking like that and my resolve is going to weaken," Phil murmured before he started the car again and settled back into his seat.

"You figured out my evil plan." Clint's hand slid across the seat to curl around Phil's thigh.

Phil made a small, involuntary sound before drawing himself up. "That doesn't mean that I'm going to give into it. When we explore each other, I want it to be in a wide, unimpeded space."

"That just means I'll have all the more fun till we get there," Clint replied cheerfully.

Phil glanced over at him even as he put the car in reverse. "Just you? I'd prefer that we both have fun together."

"Are you telling me that you won't enjoy me touching you? Because if so, it doesn't bode well for the rest of tonight."

"The issue is, would you rather spend the night in the ER or a police precinct because I've run into something due to your hands being on me?"

Clint shook his head. "Nope, not gonna happen. You're Agent Coulson. Nothing shakes you. I'm pretty sure a dragon could suddenly appear in front of us," he rapped his knuckles against his own head, "breathing fire, and you'd just shoot it, put the fire out, and drive on without breaking a sweat."

"Your head is not wood," Phil stated before catching Clint's hand and running his thumb over the back of Clint's knuckles. "And I do break a sweat. When you were caught in Moscow, you could have floated a boat next to me."

That earned him a particularly sweet, almost shy smile from Clint that no one else in SHIELD would have believed could have come from Agent Barton. "Oh, fine, I'll be good. Till we get back to the hotel at least. All bets are off after that."

Phil cut his eyes to the side again, and a small smile curved his lips. "Yes, they are. I may have to write off a damage deposit on the room in the report."

Clint burst into laughter. It was several moments before he caught his breath enough to speak. "You're going to make Fury pay for sex-incurred damages? Please, get a recording of his face."

"Nick won't argue a report I put in because I won't make a recording of any reactions."

"Aw, Phil. Just think of the fun we could have with it."

"You do realize that he is the one who sends you on missions, don't you?" Phil asked mildly. "I really have no desire to spend a year in Antarctica."

"We would keep each other warm. And penguins are cute."

"Penguins smell like fish and are oily."

"I didn't say I wanted to take one home as a pet."

"At any distance they're oily and smell like fish," Phil repeated.

"Damn, how far away can you smell things? Should I call you Hawknose?"

Phil rolled his eyes at that. "I'll leave the code names to you."

"Yeah, that won't work. What has the best sense of smell? I'll have to google it. Good thing it's not likely to be a penguin since you don't like them. Do you hate tuxes too? I would have thought you'd like them."

Phil made a small, strangled sound but continued to drive, weaving them through the evening traffic toward their hotel without comment.

Clint grinned lazily. "You should be used to me by now. Good to know I can still surprise you sometimes."

"Clint, I doubt anyone could ever be fully used to you. I'm just happy that I manage to keep from being surprised ninety percent of the time."

"Well, I actually like you, so there's some stuff I keep for others," Clint admitted.

"Does this include the whole incident with the darts in the cafeteria?" Phil asked.

"They were Nerf darts, and I was testing operational readiness."

Phil couldn't help but smile at that. "And this is why I appreciate you for who you are."

"You get me." Clint leaned over to press a kiss to the corner of Phil's mouth.

"Something I am utterly grateful for."

"And now you can get me again if we ever get to the hotel."

"As much as I would like it, I can't make the car fly," Phil pointed out.

"We should get someone to work on that. That would be useful. Not to mention fun."

Phil quirked a small smile at that. "I said this car; we wouldn't want to leave that technology in the wrong hands."

"So you're telling me you actually have a flying car? For the record, Phil, that's what you want on a date. Just sayin'."

"For our first official date, we'll take Lola," Phil promised. "For now, we'll just have ourselves."

"Which sounds perfect to me, especially since I never thought we'd have a date at all before today." Clint rested his hand on Phil's thigh, not teasing, just wanting to touch him.

"I'd say this was all rather backward, but I'm not going to waste the opportunity." As he spoke, Phil steered the SUV into the hotel garage and parked. "I'd kiss you again," he said idly as he unhooked his seat belt, "but if I do that, we won't be getting out of the car, and I'd much rather do it where we won't have to move except to order room service."

"You always have the best plans," Clint said cheerfully, even if the look in his eyes agreed with Phil's desire for another kiss. "Once I get you in bed, I'm not letting you back out for a very long time," he added throatily.

"Well, this is definitely a case where our plans coincide perfectly," Phil promised, reaching behind his seat for his computer bag and waiting until the younger man had retrieved his disguised bow case before getting out of the vehicle. "I will have to send in a brief mission account when we get up to the room, and that will include the request that our extraction be delayed for a day if at all possible; this way we can sleep in tomorrow."

"This plan just keeps getting better and better." Clint grinned at Phil over the top of the car, glad that his hands were occupied for the moment or he didn't think he'd have been able to keep himself from grabbing Phil. A thought struck him suddenly, and he paused and looked back at Phil.

"Is this just a one-time thing for you?" He didn't think so since Phil had talked easily about going out on a date, but if he was wrong, he needed to know it now.

Phil looked at him sharply, both eyebrows rising in as much of an expression of surprise as he had ever been seen giving. "I wouldn't jeopardize our working relationship, your career, your well-being for a one-time thing with you."

Clint's grin lit up his entire face. "Good, because I've been imagining this for a long time. It's going to take an even longer time to fulfil all my fantasies... and by then, I'll have new ones to deal with."

"You do realize that I have quite the list of them myself," Phil commented as he started around the car, subtly herding Clint toward the building entrance.

"I'd be really disappointed if you didn't." Clint not only moved toward the entrance, he caught Phil's hand to draw him along.

Tightening his hand around Clint's, Phil moved up to Clint's side, and they walked into the hotel together, heading for the elevator, both their gazes scanning the lobby automatically, looking for anything out of place. Once the elevator arrived and the doors slid shut behind them, Phil pushed Clint against the wall, covering his mouth and sealing their lips together.

Clint's moan was muffled by Phil's mouth, but the vibrations could be felt by both of them. He pulled Phil even closer, loving the feeling of Phil's weight pressing him against the wall.

"When we get in the room, I want you out of your clothes," Phil murmured, the words vibrating against Clint's skin. "Because they're going to be in pieces if you leave it up to me to do it."

A visible shudder ran through Clint, and he couldn't hold back a groan of pure lust. "Fuck, Phil, you can't say things like that."

"And why is that?"

"Because you make me want to fuck you right here, right now."

Phil leaned back, considering the plan before finally shaking his head. "Too much of a chance for interruption; we'll have to wait until we get to the room for that."

"If I come in my pants, it's your fault." Clint rubbed against Phil, moaning at the sensation of their hard cocks against each other.

"If you come in your pants, I'm just going to have to get you hard again sooner rather than later." Phil's voice was rough, and his hips canted forward to increase the pressure between then.

"Mmm, just how many times do you think I'm going to come tonight?" Clint rasped against Phil's ear before nipping at the tender lobe.

Phil made a small noise of pleasure at the small pain before giving a low chuckle. "I hope you know by now that I don't underestimate you, so I'm not going to suggest a number."

Clint had to laugh. "But you know how I love to exceed expectations."

"I do, and you do it exceedingly well," Phil promised, grinding against Clint for a moment more before stepping back just before the elevator chimed and the doors slid open.

As Phil stepped out of the elevator, Clint stayed right on his heels, his hard cock rubbing against Phil's ass whenever he managed to get closer. "And tonight I'm really inspired."

Phil deliberately slowed so that Clint was pressed fully against his back. "Well then, I'd suggest that you save tonight's first time until we're in bed together because I'd hate to waste it." He reached into his pants pocket, pulling the fabric tighter over his ass, and pulled out the room key. After giving the lock a quick examination, he unlatched the door and pushed it open, striding into the room.

"I'm dying to see you naked," Clint groaned. "I've imagined every inch of you."

"Room check and secure then I'll send my report so we can both have what we want," Phil promised, forcing himself to remain professional for a few more minutes if only to ensure that the situation was under control.

"I'm looking forward to downtime at home, when we know the place is secure and can really relax and concentrate on each other," Clint told him even as he stepped away and forced himself to go check the window.

Phil pulled out his laptop, typing a report that would have done Clint proud as far as brevity. "True, but maybe it's better that this first time is on neutral ground, a place we can share equally."

"That sounds really good." Clint suddenly stopped in his tracks. "Lube and condoms. Please tell me you have some. I only have two."

"Two tubes of lube?" Phil asked, giving a quicksilver smile.

"Two rubbers," Clint said with a faint chuckle. "Which isn't even going to scratch the surface of what I want us to do."

"Agent Barton," Phil said, his voice going low and throaty as he set his computer case near the bed, "have you ever known me not to be prepared for any situation?"

"Agent Coulson, I may have to worship you."

"We have far too many clothes on for that to be possible." As Phil spoke, he shucked out of his jacket and started to tug on his tie.

"Well, you did give me an order." Almost by the time he was done speaking, Clint was naked, his erection hard and flushed against his belly.

Phil groaned deep in his throat as he pulled his tie and shirt off, his hands holding a minute tremor as he undid his belt and his gaze never wavering from Clint's nude body.

"God, you're gorgeous," Clint groaned, his eyes fixed on Phil's body as it was slowly revealed.

Phil gave a short bark of laughter as he stepped out of his pants and shoved his pants and underwear down to the floor, his own erection slapping against his abdomen as the elastic of his briefs released it. "Bed, Clint," he groaned. "I'll get the supplies."

For once, Clint was very happy to follow orders. When Phil turned back to the bed, he was stretched out in the center, his legs spread as widely as possible, and his gazed focused on Phil.

As Phil bent to dig in his bag for the supplies, he kept his eyes trained on the beautifully muscled man on the bed. "So tell me," he murmured, pulling off his socks before he straightened, carrying the supplies over to the bed, "you said something about fucking me? Is that what you want first?"

"What a decision." Clint eyed Phil hungrily. "I want to fuck you; I want you to fuck me. I want us to suck, jerk, fuck, rub, hug, fall asleep together and do it all again. And I don't care about the order at all."

"Jesus, Clint," Phil whispered as he crawled onto the bed beside him, dropping the condoms and lube on the sheets. "You're going to be my undoing, but I don't care one bit."

"We'll come undone together, and then we'll help put each other back together." Clint reached for Phil, his hand coming to rest on the small of Phil's back.

Phil nodded as he leaned in over Clint, their bare skin brushing together, sending him to his elbow so that he could card his fingers through Clint's short hair, his other hand brushing against Clint's side. "I'm approving of this plan as well."

"It's a perfect plan, zero chance of anything going sideways. Unless we want it to."

"Not here. Later, when we're somewhere we can be experimental..." Phil leaned in and nipped at Clint's lower lip as he slid his hand from his hair down the side of his body, savoring the ridges of muscle and bone beneath his fingertips.

  

"For now, I just want to feel you inside me, claiming me, making me know every time I move tomorrow that you want me as much as I want you."

Phil shifted his weight, pressing a leg between Clint's, spreading them around his knee as he dragged his hand lower, skimming the thin skin of the hollow of his hip. "You will, all the way back to the States."

Clint shivered. "Good. And for the record, so will you. I'd never dream of underachieving and not meeting your expectations, Agent Coulson."

The older man stilled and stared down at Clint, the blue of his eyes nearly invisible because of his dilated pupils. "Phil," he rasped, his fingers skimming inward to trace along the side of Clint's erection. "Not Agent Coulson, not here."

"No," Clint agreed, "not here. Here, you're mine. You're _my_ Phil."

"Everywhere, everywhen I'm your Phil."

"Fuck." Clint surged up to meet Phil, taking his mouth in a demanding kiss, Phil dropping down on him, grinding their naked lengths together, their groins slicked by their pre-come.

"We will, very soon we will," he breathed against Clint's lips.

Clint didn't bother to break the kiss to answer verbally, not when he finally had the chance to pull Phil over him and feel the full lengths of their naked bodies pressed together from mouth to feet.

Phil groaned, driving his hips down against Clint's, feeling the younger man pull his legs up and around his body. "Can't get you ready for me if you keep that tight a hold of me," he groaned.

"Don't want to let go now that I finally have you," Clint grumbled, but he did release his grip enough to allow Phil to move.

"You want me in you—" Phil chuckled quietly as Clint loosed his hold on him enough to allow him to move. "You need to let me get you loose enough not to hurt you."

He reached for the lube and flipped the cap open, squirting some of the gel over his fingers before slipping them between them, trailing the cool lubricant behind Clint's balls and over his hole.

"I hate the idea of letting you get any farther from me, but that's one hell of an incentive." Clint let his legs fall back to the bed, along with his arms that he crossed behind his head. "I'm all yours."

"Yes, yes, you are," Phil breathed, circling one finger around Clint's hole then pressing it inward when the muscle relaxed.

"Oh god, yes," Clint moaned, bucking up to try to take more of Phil's finger. "You feel so good."

"Slow for now, I don't want to hurt you," Phil said, rolling with Clint's motions, keeping the depth shallow until he felt the tight grip of the muscles around him ease up, finally taking him easily.

"You wouldn't." Clint sounded certain despite the breathless quality of his voice. "You won't. Please don't tease, Phil. I've wanted you for too long."

"Need to stretch you more. I won't tease you, Clint, I swear," Phil promised, kissing him deeply before adding a second finger and pressing them deeper, grazing his fingertips against the bump of Clint's prostate, making the archer cry out and arch up under him.

"Fuck, Phil, please," he panted.

"Going to feel so good around me," Phil murmured, twisting his fingers a final time before slowly drawing them back so that he could grab for a condom, ripping it open and rolling it onto himself. After squeezing out more of the lube, he slicked himself up then placed his hand on Clint's knee, spreading him wider so that he could slowly sink into the welcoming depths of his body.

"Oh god, yes," Clint moaned, his eyes burning into Phil's. "You feel so fucking perfect inside me. So much better than I could ever have imagined."

Phil slid a hand behind Clint's head, raising it up just enough so that he could eat at the younger man's mouth, slowly releasing it and beginning to move once he could stare down at Clint again. "Perfect around me, going to be perfect in me. Perfect for me, Clint, I just want to be the same for you."

"You are," Clint assured him fervently. "Wanted you from the day I saw you, just never thought I could have you. Never wanted anyone like this before," he panted, his nails digging into Phil's shoulders where he clung.

"So perfect," Phil repeated as they moved together, each stroke sending his full length sliding into Clint's body then out again, catching Clint's erection between them as they came together.

"Yes." Clint stared up at Phil, still hardly able to believe this was real even as he felt Phil filling him, the friction of his shaft tugging at the walls of Clint's passage as he moved. "You feel like you were made for me, and no one else can have you now that you're mine."

Phil gave a bark of laughter that vibrated through both their bodies and hitched back so that he could reach between them, jacking Clint off as they moved together, breathing half-understood words of desire and possession against the other man's skin. Clint could only whimper his approval of Phil's actions, words far beyond him just then.

He met every stroke hungrily, his body clinging to Phil each time he drew back. His focus narrowed to the man above him, all else fading away under the flood of pleasure and joy that filled him.

The naked emotion in Clint's eyes did Phil in, and he twisted his wrist even as he drove deeper into the warm, powerful body beneath him. "Close..." he panted, not wanting to leave Clint hanging.

"Yes, god, please," Clint moaned. He lunged upward to kiss Phil again as he clenched down with the first spasm of orgasm.

"Fuck!" Phil gasped, the rippling grip around his erection startling the word out of him and into Clint's mouth as he drove inward again, burying himself as deeply as possible in the younger man. Clint's seed spurted between them, coating his hand and their stomachs, and Phil felt his own pleasure erupt to fill the condom—causing a sudden, irrational desire to have nothing between them.

"Oh my god, you're going to kill me, but what a way to go," Clint said a short time later after he'd caught his breath. He still clung to Phil, clearly not bothered in the least by his weight and equally clearly not about to let him move away.

Phil lifted his head from where he'd been leaning against Clint's shoulder, his blue eyes suddenly serious. "Don't say that, please."

"Sorry." Clint pressed an apologetic kiss to Phil's temple. "Don't worry, now that I know what I have waiting for me, I'm not about to die. We have wasted time to make up for," he added, trying to draw a smile from Phil.

"And many plans to work through," Phil murmured. "Those will take several years at least."

Despite his sated condition, a shiver ran through Clint's frame at that thought. "I would never be responsible for one of your plans failing."

"No, I know that you always do everything in your power to bring them to fruition, even if it's not quite in the way I had initially lined out," Phil chuckled, easing the hand between them up to press his damp fingers against Clint's chest over his heart. "You never disappoint me; you're a miracle to me."

"You believe in me," Clint replied simply, his own hand rising to cover Phil's.

"You're mine; how could I not?"

The words caused Clint to inhale sharply and tighten his hold on Phil. His eyes closed, hiding the rush of emotion that filled him.

Phil's eyebrows furrowed the smallest bit, and he pressed a kiss to Clint's cheek. "That was true before I admitted to this. Even if it was just as my specialist, you were mine, and I believe in you totally. The fact that I wanted to do things with you that are still illegal in several states has nothing to do with it."

Clint had to laugh at that last comment, and he found himself biting back a statement that it was much too soon to make. "I think I really enjoy illegal activities with you."

"Illegal activities with you are always enjoyable if at times bad for my blood pressure," Phil chuckled.

"Well, hopefully our latest variety will be good for your blood pressure." Clint smirked at him, causing Phil's laughter to grow in volume and his body to shake on top of Clint's.

"I'll tell medical that I have a new exercise regime."

"Let's just hope they don't ask for a demonstration," Clint chuckled. "I'm not sure they'd survive it."

"They wouldn't make it through the crawls through the air shafts let alone the advanced level."

"Are you planning to join me in the air shafts?" Clint asked, sounding interested. "That could be fun."

One of Phil's eyebrows shot upward. "You do realize just how those things echo if you aren't exceedingly quiet?"

"Are you telling me that you can't be quiet if the situation calls for it?"

"You know the answer to that." Phil shifted, and his softening cock slid out of Clint's body, causing him to twist to remove the rubber and drop it in the basket by the bed. Rolling onto his back, he brought Clint with him so the other man was resting against his chest. "I wasn't saying it was impossible."

Clint nestled into Phil's embrace, his head pillowed comfortably on Phil's shoulder. "You know how I enjoy a challenge."

"Hrmm, I know that you enjoy doing anything that someone tells you not to do if you don't believe there's a good reason for it," Phil finally chuckled as he stroked his hand over Clint's back. "Do you want to order dinner now or just lie here and bask in the afterglow?"

"Bask first, then dinner. I'm comfortable." Clint rubbed his cheek on Phil's shoulder, then murmured an apology and kissed it when he realized his evening stubble had caused beard burn.

"Hmm? What was that for?" Phil asked as he skimmed his fingertips over the small of Clint's back.

"Didn't mean to scratch you, I just didn't think." Clint drew a finger over the reddened skin. "Though it is kinda hot seeing a mark I left on you."

"I don't mind wearing your mark in the least," Phil promised, letting the edge of his fingernail dig into Clint's back. "I think I have several more that we just can't see at the moment."

Clint raised his head to grin at Phil. "Should we go get matching tattoos with our initials in a heart?"

"Sure," Phil replied without missing a beat, "I can put mine on the shoulder opposite the one I have now."

"I really shouldn't like the sound of that as much as I do."

"If it wasn't for the fact that you need to keep the number of distinguishing marks to a minimum, I would start looking for tattoo parlors if only to prove to you that I'm in this for the long haul."

Clint let out a long, slow breath. "If you keep saying things like that, we are never going to get back out of this bed."

"Well, other than for bathroom breaks and to answer the door to get room service, I wasn't planning on doing that until we had to."

" _Never_ ," Clint repeated with heavy emphasis. "You keep saying stuff..." He trailed off and kissed Phil.

"I'd ask if that was your way of saying that I was talking too much, but knowing you, you would simply tell me."

"Naw, I have a much better way of making you be quiet now."

Phil gave a slow, knowing smile at that. "Yes, you do, and I'm looking forward to seeing that plan in action. Perhaps I should mention that medical has determined that I have no gag reflex?"

Clint groaned. "Damn, Phil, give a guy some warning. A guy my age shouldn't get that hard, that fast, that soon after coming." It was an exaggeration, but his body had given a valiant effort.

"We can save that for later," Phil chuckled. "Food will help you get your energy back up."

"And you'll take care of getting everything else back up?" Clint returned wryly. "I'm going to have to start taking vitamins."

Phil huffed out a laugh at that. "You do remember that you're eight years younger than I am, don't you? I'm the one who is going to need vitamins and possibly Viagra in the long run to keep up with you."

Clint snorted. "You forget I have very recent proof that you can more than keep up with me."

"Considering that was the first time that I had sex with another person in several years, I would hope that was the case."

Clint stared at him. "Is everyone at SHIELD and in that city blind and stupid?"

"Who wants to sleep with a robot or an accountant?" Phil asked in return before smiling and kissing the frown from Clint's mouth. "Besides, I was somewhat fixated on a certain agent for the past year and a half."

"Huh. Well, I can't argue with that since I was fixated on a certain handler for the same length of time."

"Well, we can happily say that we're resolved in regard to that situation."

"Best resolution ever," Clint agreed. "Worth waiting for, especially now that we can make up for lost time."

Phil nodded, his hand resuming its long, slow sweeps over Clint's lower back. "I suppose we have to thank the slip-shod security at that facility for getting us here."

"I have a new fondness for closets."

"For our first anniversary, I'm going to drag you into one," Phil promised.

"I hope you're not going to make me wait a whole year till we get into another one."

Phil chuckled at that, and he reached out with his free hand to catch Clint's, twining their fingers together and resting them on his chest. "I think we can manage to find a closet that appeals to both of us before then."

"Oh good. We need to make sure that all safe houses have closets from now on. I have a new favorite way to unwind after a mission." Clint grinned at Phil, his blue-gray eyes sparkling wickedly.

"So I'm to add appropriate closets to all mission plans? That's doable," Phil promised, drawing Clint in for a kiss.

"I'm really liking the perks of this relationship," Clint chuckled against Phil's lips. "Beyond the obvious, of course."

"Hrmm, I'm hoping that you remember that the next time you get a lecture for the inappropriate shooting of junior agents with Nerf arrows."

"Operational readiness training," Clint replied with a grin. "When they're on missions, the bad guys won't be shooting Nerf ammo at them."

"Agreed, but shooting at them in the women's bathroom stalls is rather above the readiness quotient."

"People have shot at me in bathrooms," Clint pointed out.

"When you were escaping a building—different parameters. They have to be able to relax sometimes, or they'll be too over-excited and get themselves killed their first time in the field."

"I'm more worried about them getting you or me killed," Clint replied. "If they just get themselves killed that easily, they shouldn't have been in the field in the first place."

Phil nodded at that. "That's why we break them in slowly; not everyone is good to go out of the gate, and not everyone will ever be good enough to work with our top agents."

"Good. I don't want you working with anyone but me, but if you do have to, it better only be the best."

"I meant you," Phil said quietly.

Clint shrugged. "They don't usually assign other agents to work with me. It freaks them out."

"That's not going to last; our going on missions alone is eventually going to change," Phil murmured. "There are missions that you'll be needed on that will be too much for even the two of us to handle."

"Don't wanna think about that right now," Clint grumbled. "It's going to be a pain in the ass when that happens."

"Not talking about it then, just basking in the afterglow at least until one of our stomachs rumble," Phil promised.

"Basking is good. And then a steak will be good," Clint decided. "And then more activities to lead to more basking."

"Steak?" Phil chuckled. "No lutefisk? No samalhove? I seem to recall you ordering the second last year."

"Well, maybe salmon. Lots of nutrients in salmon to keep me going."

"Salmon it is then. What me to order now? It will probably take at least half an hour to get here."

"That sounds like the perfect amount of time for us to get a shower. I can't wait to get my hands on you when you're wet."

"Half an hour sounds like a decent time to at least do preemptory explorations of the wetlands that compromise Clint Barton's chest," Phil mused, finally letting go of Clint's waist so that he could reach for the bedside phone and order their meal.

Clint lay on Phil's chest, silently mouthing "wetlands" before he snorted out a laugh that he tried to muffle against Phil.

Once Phil hung up the phone, he craned his neck to look down at Clint's silently shaking body. "Yes?" he asked archly. "Is there an issue?"

"Yes," Clint snickered. "Apparently you're insane, but it seems that I don't care. I'm still keeping you."

"Would you prefer that I referred to your chest as the rolling foothills? The rugged peaks?"

"How 'bout just a chest?" Clint suggested, shaking his head in bemusement.

"Come on," he continued after rolling to his feet. "Let's have that shower so we can get some food into you. Obviously your blood sugar is low or something."

"Endorphins from amazing sex," Phil said, nodding in agreement as he stood as well, looping an arm around Clint's waist as they headed for the bathroom.

"Huh. So I can expect this after sex every time? Should be fun," Clint decided, his own arm sliding around Phil's waist as well.

"Clint, right now I am more relaxed than I have been probably for the last decade, so allow me the momentary insanity," Phil begged. "You said no talking about work, so I've shut that part of my brain off."

"Hey, I wasn't complaining. I like loopy Phil, and I think I'm entitled to being smug that I made you that way."

"Of course there's the fact that no one at work would believe you as I don't have emotions," Phil pointed out as he reached for the handle and turned on the water.

"Not an issue since I don't intend to share this side of you with anyone else. SHIELD has Agent Coulson; Phil's all mine."

Phil cocked his head at that then gave a slow, full smile. "I like hearing you call me by my name."

"And I like using it, so it's good all 'round. And trust me, you'll be hearing me say it a lot."

The water warmed up, and Phil stepped inside the shower, drawing Clint along with him. "I do trust you; I've always trusted you."

"We're both idiots," Clint sighed. "But at least we finally got here." He wrapped both arms around Phil's waist, drawing him close.

"Mmm, and here is a pretty damn good place to be," Phil murmured, nuzzling the side of Clint's neck as the water fell around them.

"Yeah, I like it. A lot. I may never want to shower alone again." Clint smiled crookedly. "Who would wash my back?"

"The shower fairies?" Phil chuckled, slowly turning Clint around and reaching for the soap so he could begin to lather up the broad expanse in front of him.

"Who wants tiny, wimpy little fairies when I can have you? Talk about trading down."

"I assure you, SHIELD shower fairies are not tiny, wimpy things, especially ones that I would send out into the field with you."

"So why have I never had shower fairies on past missions? I feel very deprived now."

"They're in high demand; I'm going to have to take them out of Fury's personal supply."

"Well, you're one of two people who might do that and live."

"True, but as you said, I'd prefer to wash your back myself; Fury can share his fairies with Maria."

"Argh! I did not ever need that mental image," Clint wailed.

"I didn't mean that way! Jasper would get exceedingly jealous."

"AARRGGHH! That's even worse!"

Giving in, Phil shifted, leaning back against the tile wall, his whole body shaking with laughter at Clint's reaction.

"You are a horrible, horrible person," Clint grumbled, pouting at him over his shoulder.

"But you enjoy my company anyway," Phil laughed, straightening up to start washing Clint's back again, his hands straying down to his ass and cleaning the leftover lube from between his cheeks.

"Clearly I'm very sick, but fortunately for both of us, I'm okay with that." Clint braced his hands on the shower wall in front of him, enjoying the sensation of Phil's hands on him.

"Not sick, exceedingly sane," Phil promised, his voice dropping in pitch as he dragged his hands over Clint's body, assuring himself that his agent was totally clean, totally whole.

"Or if not, at least our brands of insanity match."

"Considering some of the things we've been involved with in the last year, did you ever doubt that?"

"I suppose not. But I'm glad we've found more areas of compatibility."

"Mmm. Though I do warn you, if you _ever_ ask me to wear a pink and white zebra suit, I will refuse."

"I never want to _see_ another pink and white zebra suit in my entire life, so I think you're safe."

"Oh thank God," Phil sighed in relief, turning Clint around to kiss him and start washing his chest.

"Trust me, it would be criminal to hide that ass in a furry suit."

"I promise that I'll wear my best suit for our first official date."

"All the more fun to unwrap you," Clint said gleefully.

"Which means that that you'll be wearing one too; after all, fair is fair when it comes to unwrapping."

"That sounds like even more fun. And like I'm really going to enjoy dessert."

Phil chuckled and guided Clint under the water again to rinse off. "Dessert will be the best part of the meal; of course the prior courses will be an appropriate buildup to it as well."

"I would hate to miss out on any courses or foreplay," Clint assured him, grinning at him, causing Phil to lean in again and kiss him.

"We won't, though we might miss our meal here if we don't get out of the shower soon."

"Oh fine, be logical." Clint took the soap and started washing Phil, enjoying himself even if he couldn't take as much time as he would like.

"I'm always logical," Phil began before pausing and chuckling even as he stretched under Clint's hands, "except perhaps when I'm talking about shower fairies."

"I was letting it slide," Clint said with a laugh. "What happens in the shower stays in the shower."

"Excellent logic there, Clint." As he spoke, Phil turned around to let the younger man reach his back.

"I learned from the best, sir." Clint lightly bit the nape of Phil's neck on the last word, causing him to groan and lean forward, bracing his hands against the wall.

"Not helping the getting out of the shower here," he murmured, his shoulders flexing beneath Clint's palms.

"Just giving you a taste of the dessert menu." Clint's tongue dragged over Phil's shoulder while his soapy hands stroked his ass.

"There's only one thing on the dessert menu that I want and that's you."

"Good thing since that's the only thing on offer."

"Good, so finish the shower service so that we can eat and we can get to that dessert."

"I've never seen you eager and demanding. I like it." Clint finished washing Phil and moved him under the spray to rinse off, then turned the water off and reached for a towel to dry him.

Phil twisted under Clint's touch, reaching for a second towel to dry him off as well. "I have been eager and demanding," Phil protested, "just in a much more low key manner than I am in private."

"Then let me state for the record that I really like your private version of demanding."

Phil quirked a smile at that. "Just wait for dessert," he murmured before leaning in to catch Clint's mouth in a deep, demanding kiss.

"It's going to be amazing," Clint purred at him, only stepping back when he heard a knock at the door. He slung a towel around his waist to go let the waiter in.

Phil took the time to belt on a robe before leaving the bathroom, watching the waiter with a cool, assessing gaze as the young man attempted to keep from staring at both Clint's bare chest and the towel that was barely hitched around his waist.

"I hope you signed for a decent tip," he commented once the waiter was gone. "Though if he was so inclined, the sight of you like that would have been a very generous one."

"Considering that he tried to give me his number before you came out, I think he was inclined," Clint said, amused. "But I gave him cash instead."

"Good thing it was before I came out, or I might have had to shoot him."

Clint laughed. "If you had been out here already, I wouldn't even have heard him."

Phil's lips curved up in a warm smile before he nodded at the covered cart that was now positioned next to the small table. "Then shall we eat so that I can tell you things that you will hear?"

"As usual, you have the best plans. Though I should probably pull on a pair of sweats first. The towel's a little damp."

Phil leaned back into the bathroom and plucked a second robe off the hook. "Will this work?"

Clint grinned and let the towel drop to the floor. He stood for a moment, grinning at the way Phil was looking at him, before tugging the robe free of Phil's grip.

"If you must know, I now feel like I just got a better tip than the waiter did."

"But for you it's not a tip; it's all yours."

Phil's hands twitched, but he held himself back as Clint belted the robe around himself. "We need to eat now, or we're never going to get to it," he stated firmly.

"And that would be a shame because then we might not have enough energy for everything we want to do." Clint sat down at the small table and lifted the cover on one plate. "Smells good."

"I would hope so considering where we are," Phil mused, waiting until Clint removed the other cover then lifting both plates and setting them on the table. Once the plates and napkin wrapped utensils were placed neatly beside them, he picked up the two wine glasses and shifted the bottle of white wine from the ice bucket to the table as well.

"Yeah, the one thing I don't hate about this city is the food. Well, and the last couple hours of today."

"Yes, the last several hours were rather good," Phil answered, reaching out to stroke the back of his knuckles over Clint's cheek before they both sat down. "Though the next few hours are going to be just as good."

"I may have to stop hating Oslo."

"I still won't suggest coming back here for our first anniversary," Phil chuckled as he poured the wine.

"No, I'm thinking of a closet in a high end hotel with good room service." Clint grinned at him.

"If we tip them well enough, maybe they'll even serve us our meals in the closet."

Clint burst into laughter. "If anyone could manage that, it's you." He was still chuckling as they started eating, his feet resting against Phil's under the table.

"It would have to be very simple fare though," Phil grinned, sliding his toes along Clint's foot. "We might have to emerge every so often."

"Finger foods definitely. Things we could feed each other. Hmm, I like the sound of this."

"Sushi is good for that as well; I think we're both dexterous enough not to impale the other with the chopsticks."

"Sounds good to me. It's a date for a year from today."

"I'll put in for the time off for us when we get back to New York," Phil promised, raising his glass and toasting Clint with it.

"I definitely want to see Fury's face when you do." Clint snickered. "Telling him you want time off for a date with me."

"Telling him I want time off for our anniversary," Phil corrected before taking a sip of his wine.

Clint stilled, his gaze intent on Phil. They'd been joking about it, but in that instant, he knew Phil really meant it. He had no doubt that he and Clint would be together a year from now, and he intended to tell Fury about them.

"God, I love you." The instant he spoke, Clint's eyes widened and he snapped his mouth shut.

Phil went still, then he reached out and caught Clint's hand in his. "That's the main reason why we're going to be in that closet in a year," he said seriously. "In a year and in ten years, and in twenty, because I feel the same."

"Oh, thank god," Clint gasped, slumping in his seat. "I was sure you'd think I was nuts and head for the hills."

"Clint, it would take much, much more than you telling me that you love me to send me running for the hills. You saying that will keep me by your side."

"How the hell did I ever get lucky enough to get you?" Clint turned his hand within Phil's to interlace their fingers.

"Do you know that I ask myself that same thing every day?" Phil asked in return. "Even before this, just to know you, to have you trust me, that was a true gift."

"I've trusted you since the first day we met when you saw me."

"I saw you?"

"You saw _me_ , not Hawkeye, not a shooter, not a tool, me."

Phil's brows drew in at that, and his fingers tightened around Clint's. "You are Hawkeye; you are a sniper, but neither of those things mean anything compared to the fact that you are Clint Barton."

"The only thing that matters to me is that I have you. No one else has looked at me the way you do."

"Then everyone really is as blind as you accuse them of being."

Clint shrugged. "I don't really care. I'm good where I am, with you."

"Then let's enjoy our meal and then each other," Phil suggested.

***

"Aren't you supposed to be doing paperwork for your mission to Oslo? I've been looking forward to it since your last mission there." Fury smirked over his desk at Coulson.

"The paperwork is done including an extra report," Phil replied steadily as he nodded toward Fury's computer. "326A."

Fury's eyebrows rose. "Which one of you finally got your head out of your ass?"

"Both of us though apparently if mine had been out of mine last year, that form would have been filed earlier."

"Both of you have been pining like teenage girls. It was embarrassing to see in grown men." As he spoke, Fury was paging through a notebook that he'd pulled from a desk drawer. "Damn, should have known it would be Hill."

"Are you trying to tell me that you and Maria were making book on when Clint and I would get together?" Phil asked archly.

"No, I'm telling you that pretty much every agent over level four was betting on when, how and if you'd finally figure it out."

"Should I ask just what your bet was?"

Fury smirked again. "I had money down on Barton snapping and jumping you after a mission. Although I did think it would take him another couple of months."

It didn't take Phil a second to shake his head. "He wouldn't have done that. If it hadn't been for that closet, I don't believe either of us would have done anything, so I suppose I owe those rogue scientists a thank you note."

"No, if it had gone on another six months, all bets were off, and Hill and Sitwell were going to kidnap you both and lock you up somewhere till you got it right."

"You do realize that this means that you're going to approve whatever vacation requests I have submitted for both Agent Barton and myself," Phil replied without missing a beat.

"One year limit. After that, it depends on what's going on," Fury responded immediately.

"At least three consecutive days three hundred and sixty four days from today non-negotiable unless there is nuclear terrorism involved."

"You've planned your anniversary. That's so cute. I hate cute."

"Good, I'll be sure to get you a box of kitten cards for Christmas."

"Fuck you and the archer you rode in on."

Phil smirked at that. "Sorry, sir, we aren't into threesomes though perhaps I can start a betting pool as to when you'll get laid next?"

"Get out of my office before I shoot you."

Phil glanced upward at that, focusing on the air vent. "Do not take that seriously," he said sternly. "I'd have to break in another director."

"I'm going to set rattraps in the goddamn ventilation system!"

"If you haven't done it by now, sir, it's too late," Phil chuckled as he stood. "And remember the bet when you get those kitten cards."

"Both of you get the hell out of my building!"

"Garage in five, Barton," Phil called, heading for the door.

"Yes, sir," the vent replied, making Fury groan and drop his head to his desk.

***

Two months later

Phil's phone buzzed where it lay on the nightstand, and he groaned, lifting his head from Clint's shoulder even as he reached for it. "Coulson." He was silent for several minutes as he listened to the voice on the other end of the line, his formerly relaxed muscles acquiring a tightness that meant a mission was imminent. "Yes, sir, we'll be there inside of an hour."

Closing the call, he sat up fully and looked down at Clint. "We've got a mission."

Eyes still closed, Clint groaned. "Of course we do. Why wouldn't we be sent on a mission just because we only just got back from one?" He pried one bleary eye open to peer up at Phil. "I suppose we're wheels up in an hour or something equally fun?"

"At base in an hour for the briefing. There are eyes on an assassin that we need to take out before she causes any more damage." Phil climbed out of bed and headed for the shower. "If you're moving by the time I'm out, I'll have coffee waiting for you once you're showered," he promised.

Clint groaned again, the sound muffled by the pillow his face was pressed into. But he did roll to his feet once Phil was in the bathroom, scrubbing a hand through his spiky dark blond hair before stretching hugely. He padded naked into the kitchen to start the coffee brewing then wandered into the bathroom to relieve himself and brush his teeth. By the time he was done, Phil had finished his shower, and they paused for a good morning kiss before Clint stepped into the shower.

As promised, Phil had a steaming cup of coffee waiting for Clint when he returned to the bedroom to dress. It only took a moment to pull on a T-shirt and pants, and then Clint joined Phil in the kitchen, leaning into his side while drinking his coffee.

"So you know," Phil offered before finishing his own coffee, "I would much rather have stayed in bed as well, but this is top priority. She's caused a lot of damage and needs to be taken off the board."

"Once I'm more awake, I'm sure I'll agree on the priorities. Right now, I'm still at the pissed at being pulled out of bed with you stage."

Phil chuckled and pressed a kiss against the side of Clint's head, hugging him close before stepping back, his Agent Coulson persona settling around him even as he took his mug to the sink to wash it out. That done, he filled a travel mug with the remaining coffee, dumped the grounds and switched out the thermal container for the empty mug that was in Clint's hand. "Finish that on the way in, and you should be awake enough by the time we get there to listen to the briefing."

"Which also means I'll be awake enough to throw things," Clint pointed out with the faintest of smirks.

"It will keep the other agents on their toes," Phil mused, heading back into the bedroom to pick up their go bags and the case with Clint's bow and arrows. "Though if you hit Maria while she's briefing us, I'm not getting between the two of you."

"Good thing, 'cause if she went after you, I'd stop using the Nerf arrows," Clint replied bluntly. "But I'm pretty sure she already knows that since she doesn't do it. She's pretty creative in her revenge though. It's impressive," he admitted with a soft chuckle.

"I still have glitter under my nails from scrubbing it out of your hair." Setting the bags down by the door, Phil walked back and picked up his suit jacket, sliding it on before checking the security of his pistol in its holster. "And thank you for wanting to protect me, but you don't need to do that from Maria; I can take care of her myself."

"Of course you can. I'm pretty sure you could take care of the devil himself—whether that's Fury or not—but being in love with you means I'm going to step in anyways."

Phil reached out, catching Clint by the waist and pulling him in for a hard, fast kiss that tasted of coffee. "I love you too, and I will always believe in you and trust you," he said before giving Clint's ass a quick grope. "Now come on, we're on the clock here."

***

"Are you sure I can't shoot her?" Clint grumbled to Phil an hour later. He was holding a small bow and projectile put together from a pen he'd taken apart and the contents of his pockets. "She already gave us the intel we need and is just rambling now."

Phil didn't dignify the question with an answer, merely pressed his foot against Clint's beneath the conference table. Maria looked over at them as if she knew exactly what Clint had just said and clicked her remote a final time, bringing up a shadowy picture of a woman with deep red hair whose features were barely visible beneath the brim of her hat.

"So to conclude, your mission is to take the Black Widow out; she's too dangerous and too amoral to leave on the loose any longer. Any questions?"

Clint just stared at her. He knew damn well they had all this information in a file that they could review on the plane, so he wasn't about to encourage her to keep talking by asking any questions even if he had had any—which he didn't since Maria actually gave very thorough briefings, not that he would ever admit that to anyone other than Phil.

"We're good, Maria," Phil answered as he picked up his laptop and stood. "We'll report in when we've acquired the target."

Clint followed Phil's lead, nodding briefly in acknowledgement to Hill.

"So, the Black Widow," Clint said to Phil as they made their way out. "I've heard of her, of course. If she's everything they say, she could be a challenge."

"She could," Phil nodded as they took the hallway to the elevator that led to the helipad on the roof. "But I know that you're up to it. We'll get you the shot, Clint; all you'll have to do is take it."

***

Perched on a roof in Buenos Aires, Clint had been watching the woman known as the Black Widow for a couple of hours. She was in the city to kill an American businessman, but while Clint had been observing her, she had seen a man abusing a young boy and put a stop to it. The boy was okay, and by the time his broken arms healed, the man might think twice about bullying someone a quarter of his size. And now, sitting in a café, she was tossing bits of her sandwich to a dog shivering in the shade nearby.

He made a decision.

"I'm moving in to make contact with her. I think we can turn her."

"Agent Barton, that is not your mission," Phil said flatly, keeping all emotion out of his voice as he felt his chest clench. The Black Widow was dangerous and deadly, and Phil didn't want Clint within a city block of her.

"But it's the right thing to do. I can't take this shot without trying. Sorry, sir."

Clint had his bow and arrows back in their case in moments, and he made his way down to the street. He crossed to the café, knowing that the Widow had spotted him, and walked to her table.

"Mind if I join you?"

"If you were going to try to kill me, it would have been more practical to do it from a distance," she answered before tipping her head regally at the chair across from her.

Phil swallowed the rant that wanted to break free, knowing that it would distract Clint at that moment and that his focus might well be the only thing keeping him alive. He did, however, slide his own earpiece into place and pull a sniper rifle out of its case. He trusted Clint; it was the Black Widow that held no such claim on him.

Clint shrugged easily. "If I was going to take the shot, I would have done it an hour ago when you were distracted by breaking that asshole's arms. Good job on that, by the way. But I figured that if you like taking up for the underdog, maybe you'd prefer a job to a coffin."

"And just what kind of a job is that?" she asked archly. "You don't look like you're CIA..."

"SHIELD. Fewer rules and more interesting jobs. And much more interesting people."

"And if I say that I like being free-lance? What are you going to do then?"

"Hope the spray doesn't hit me when my partner takes you out."

She didn't even bother to look around at that statement. "You're on your own, and your handler hasn't had time to get to where he could take a shot. You would be on the ground, and I would be in the wind before he could do anything about it."

The statement was made calmly and matter-of-factly, then she slowly lowered her sunglasses revealing brilliant green eyes that looked tired. "So tell me, Agent, why did you join SHIELD? What can it give me other than bars and a leash and the threat to be put down like a dog if I don't do as they order?"

"I'm not doing what they ordered right now," Clint pointed out, "and the worst that's going to happen is a lot of yelling, maybe being kept out of the field for a few weeks, and possibly sleeping on the couch for a while," he finished with a wince. "I joined SHIELD because it seemed better than going free-lance and ending up dead or in prison, and I haven't regretted it. Though maybe they have when I'm bored," he added musingly.

"And what keeps you there?" she asked, the smallest bit of curiosity entering her tone.

"What I'm doing actually makes a difference, makes the world a better place. We don't kill people because they're inconvenient to someone else or because it'll make someone more money. If we do take someone out, it's because doing it saves a lot of other lives. And if I get caught—say because someone else is completing a job at the same time, spots me, and decides to use me as a distraction to get herself out clean," he added with a brief glare, letting her know that he'd recognized her from their brief encounter in Moscow a couple years before, "I know that if it's possible, someone's coming after me to get me out of there. I'm not alone."

She gave an innocent smile in return before turning serious again. "You really believe that, that they treat you as something other than a weapon, an asset to be used and thrown away when it's no longer useful?"

"I know it. Some of them, okay, a lot of them, did treat me like that when I first started, but that mainly lasted as long as it did because I let them. Then I got paired with a handler who didn't, and I realized I didn't have to put up with that shit." Clint grinned suddenly. "Of course, it helped that anyone with half a brain is scared to piss him off."

"All right." She slid her sunglasses on again and leaned back in her seat, resting her hands flat on the table so that they were in plain sight. "Take me to meet this paragon of a handler of yours, and we'll see if he sings the same tune you do."

Clint gave her a smile. "Name the location, sir."

"Just bring her in, Barton," Phil answered, sounding as if he had a migraine.

"Okay, and sorry for the headache. See you in thirty."

Clint got to his feet and motioned for the Black Widow to follow suit. Once she had, they exited the café side by side, neither willing to allow the other at their back, regardless of their current truce.

"Are we walking, or do you have transportation?" she asked as they reached the street, both subtly checking their surroundings for anything out of place.

"Walking, transportation doesn't really work on most of the routes I normally use."

"Roofs?" At his nod, she inclined her head in agreement. "They work though I'm usually more up close and personal for my jobs."

"My preference is bow and arrow, so distance works better for me. I'm Clint by the way."

She paused as if weighing her words before answering. "Natasha, and yes, I recall your bow from Moscow. I wondered if you had gotten out."

"Somewhat the worse for wear, but yeah. I didn't think I would since I didn't know Phil well enough yet then to know he'd never leave an agent behind, but he got me out of there more or less in one piece."

"On his own? Sounds like an interesting man," Natasha mused.

"Oh, you have no idea. And he'll probably be even more interesting now since he's really pissed at me."

"The organization I worked for would have shot me as well as my target if I had tried something like this."

"Oh, I'm sure he fantasized about it, somewhere non-lethal, of course," Clint chuckled. "If he was anyone else, he'd probably greet me with a punch to the jaw. Huh. Is it still a domestic if you're not at home?"

"So you're sleeping with your handler. Is this well known at SHIELD?"

Clint laughed. "There's a form for it. And apparently half the agency was betting on when we'd get together."

"I'm beginning to think that SHIELD is a very different organization than I believed—that or you're a much better liar than you would seem to be."

"Only when I want to be. And except for missions, I haven't needed to be since I joined SHIELD," Clint said, his eyes serious as he glanced at her.

Natasha was silent for the rest of their walk, only the slightest of hesitations showing her nerves as she followed Clint into the safe house where his handler waited.

The lights were on, and there was no sign of weapons or electronics, only a non-descript man in a well-cut suit whose expression was as placid as his voice when he spoke. "I'm Phil Coulson, and, as Agent Barton has told you, I'm his handler. Would you care to have a seat?"

She regarded him intently, seeing past the bland exterior to the man Clint had described. "I prefer to stand for now," she replied.

"Would you like something to drink?" Clint offered. "Coffee, Phil?" He was already starting a pot, wanting some himself.

"No, thank you," Phil and Natasha replied in unison as they continued studying each other.

"I'm sure you're aware that what Agent Barton did was not his mission," Phil began. "And while I may not agree with his decision at the moment, I trust his instincts and will abide by it. As he has decided to trust you, I will also—within reason, of course."

"So long as I don't threaten his safety?" Natasha suggested, faintly amused. She hesitated for a moment longer before crossing the room and taking a seat. The chair she chose was easy to get out of and had a good view of both the door and window.

"I'm glad we understand each other, Ms. ..." Phil waited to see what name the woman would supply, if any.

Again, she regarded him searchingly for long moments. "Romanoff," she finally replied. "Or more properly, Natalia Alianovna Romanova."

"Pleased to meet you," Clint called from the kitchen.

"Ms. Romanoff," Phil said, sitting down across from her, not obstructing her lines of sight but also not leaving her a clear line to Clint. "I think I am going to have that coffee; are you sure that you don't want a cup?"

"I made a pot, plenty for everyone," Clint put in, leaning to one side to see Natasha around Phil.

"Then yes, I would enjoy a cup of coffee, thank you," Natasha said politely. She remained still in her chair, her hands visible, and she watched as Clint carried a cup to Agent Coulson. He paused for a moment, his freed hand resting on the agent's shoulder, then continued across the room to hand one to her as well. After a brief return to the kitchen he rejoined them, perching on the arm of Coulson's chair with his own coffee.

"So," she said slowly, "what do we do now?"

Phil took a sip of his drink, his arm brushing against Clint's hip as he raised it. "I'll contact the director once we're done talking and let him know about the change in the situation. We should be cleared for extraction tomorrow morning, so if there's any gear that you would care to retrieve, we can do that this evening."

"I have everything I need," Natasha replied simply, and Clint nodded. They all knew how quickly missions could go sideways, so leaving anything behind that you would miss was foolish.

"There's only one bedroom, but we can make up the sofa for you," Clint offered. "It should be comfortable enough."

"You're certainly very trusting, to offer to leave me alone while you were in a separate room," Natasha pointed out, causing Phil to raise his eyebrows slightly.

"You chose to come with Clint. If you had wanted to bolt, the time would have been then, not now. I believe that you're tired of running, Ms. Romanoff. I believe that's what Clint saw when he studied you, and I happen to know that he has excellent vision."

Clint glanced down, eyeing Phil warily. He was well aware that no matter how well Phil appeared to be taking the situation, he was royally pissed at Clint for putting himself into a potentially lethal situation. "See, trust and respect," Clint said to Natasha.

"I do not expect to develop any similar relationship with co-workers," she informed him, making Clint snort out a laugh.

"We worked together for nearly two years before anything else developed. And he still trusted my judgement then."

"Trust is the basis of a good working partnership, especially in our line of work," Phil nodded.

"Trust is earned, not given," Natasha responded. "Especially in our line of work."

"Which is why it's a valuable commodity and not one to be wasted."

Clint simply sat and listened, a faint smile curving his lips. He might have had a similar conversation if he'd been fortunate enough to be recruited by Phil.

"Is this something you do often?" Natasha asked, watching the two men across from her and seeing how comfortable they were together. They were clearly a team.

"Recruit people that we've been sent to eliminate?" Phil asked in return. "Never, though I've found myself involved in quite a few situations with Clint that I never had been before."

Clint snickered. "I'm never boring."

"I find that very easy to believe," Natasha said dryly.

"I'm sure you'll learn this from experience as time goes by," Phil offered before setting his mug on the table. "And if the two of you will excuse me, I'm going to call the director."

"Record it," Clint called after him. "I'd hate to miss the reaction."

Natasha stared at him.

"What? Fury's great when he's furious. He threatens to shoot or electrocute me at least a couple times a week."

"I'm sure you do nothing to deserve it in the least."

"Operational readiness training," Clint said with a smirk.

"They allow you to shoot people as part of your training exercises?" she asked, actually sounding surprised.

"Well, not officially, but yeah." Clint chuckled. "I use Nerf or paintball arrows."

"Ahh. Less effective but still useful. And has your director ever followed through on his threats?"

"Sure, every so often he tries to set up electrified nets in the vents, calls it operational readiness training for me."

Natasha looked intrigued by the idea and finally leaned back in the chair, holding her cup of coffee between her hands. "And has he ever caught you with them?"

"Not yet, but he's never going to stop trying. Plus if he ever succeeds, we both know I'll just step it up for the next round."

"Would you stop if Agent Coulson asked you to?" she asked curiously.

"If he did, it would be for a reason, not just because agents don't like being surprised, so yes, I would."

Natasha sipped at her coffee, using it as a cover to mull over Clint's comments and what they might mean for her future. "Having someone you trust to that level must be very comforting."

"Yeah, it is. I've never had that before, but what makes it better is that he trusts me too."

"Obviously, or we wouldn't be sitting here like this."

"Good point. But my point was that I'd never had that before either. And it's not just Phil. Other people trust me too. Hell, if they didn't, Fury would be doing a lot more than setting traps to get me out of the ventilation system."

"Considering the conversation I just had with Director Fury, we may well be walking back into something more than that," Phil commented as he came back into the room. "He informed me that your write up had best be so detailed, and I quote, that it includes the number of times you wiped your ass when you used the bathroom." He looked slightly pained as he passed that information on.

"So, watched target, talked to target, offered target a job won't cut it?"

Even Natasha gave him a look at that. "You are even stronger than I thought, Agent Coulson."

Phil's look pinned Clint to the back of the chair he had been sitting in. "Even in cases where your superiors are in the best moods of their lives, that would not be an acceptable report," he said before looking at Natasha.

"Ms. Romanoff, I do have some paperwork that I need you to fill out before the evening is over."

She sighed. "This paperwork is a drawback of accepting your offer. Still, I suppose it is better than the alternative." She looked from Phil to Clint and back. "I would prefer that you call me Natasha."

***

Once the paperwork was complete, the three of them had eaten a hastily put together meal and the building's security had been double-checked for the evening, Phil found an extra pillow and blanket for Natasha, setting them on the couch before pausing and frowning slightly. "We do have extra clothes if you would prefer to be more comfortable for the evening."

Natasha gave him an incredulous look. "I am fine as I am."

"Yeah, she's about as likely to strip with us here as you are to dance naked down Main Street, Phil."

"I wasn't suggesting that you strip with us in the room," Phil said mildly. "Simply that we can offer you something else if you would prefer. As you don't, it's not an issue."

"I prefer my own garments, thank you," Natasha said calmly. "It's best to be prepared for a rapid departure."

"All right, then we'll let you get settled in. Hopefully you'll get some sleep tonight."

She smiled faintly. "Hopefully you will as well."

Clint snickered. "Oh, I really, really want to keep her. Just think what a team we'd all make."

"That will up to the director," Phil answered, "the partnership part of the statement as you have already seem to have adopted her."

Catching the undertone of anger that would be imperceptible to anyone who didn't know Phil as well as he did, Clint winced, but before he could say anything, Natasha spoke up.

"You do realize that I'm right here, and I'm an adult? I'm not in need of adoption."

"That fact obviously hasn't stopped Clint from doing just that, at least as a sister. Good night, Natasha, we'll see you in the morning." Nodding at her, Phil turned and walked toward the bedroom.

Clint stared after him, his shoulders slumping slightly before he turned back to Natasha with a bright smile. "Can I get you anything?"

She sighed faintly and shook her head. "I'm fine. Go after him and fix that. I refuse to be responsible for it."

That left Clint blinking at her before he laughed softly. "You are so my sister from another mister. Night, Nat."

He headed after Phil, hoping that the man was still speaking to him. The older man looked up from where he was laying his suit jacket over a chair as he entered the room. "That was quick."

"Yeah, Nat's settled, and she told me in so many words to go after you and fix this.

"I'm sorry if I scared you, but I had to do it. Sometimes, it would just be wrong to take the shot. I knew I could bring her in and you could save her." Clint smiled wryly. "It's what you do."

Phil's lips tightened, and he let out a low sigh. "I'm not arguing that point with you; I simply wish that you had informed me of your decision before you were walking up to her."

"Phil, this is me. I hadn't informed myself of my decision before I was walking up to her."

A soft, almost pained laugh answered that remark. "You're right, and in this case it was the right call."

Clint finally dared to slide his arms around Phil. "I just hope Fury agrees because I won't be okay with being stuck back at the office while you go out without me to watch your back."

"If Fury hadn't agreed, do you really think we would be standing here having this conversation right now? I'd be moving us all somewhere that was off the radar until he decided that your observations were correct in this instance."

Clint had to smile when Phil confirmed that he would have stuck with Clint if it had all gone sideways. "I'm glad we don't have to go travel with a nomadic tribe for a while. Your suits would never have survived it."

"Though you may finally have gotten the story of Agent May in a hula skirt out of me at that point." As he spoke, Phil wrapped one arm around Clint, pulling him in closer.

"I'll get it eventually. Without having to drink yak milk."

"So you think."

Clint snorted. "Neither of us has ever succeeded in refusing the other something we wanted. I don't think that's suddenly going to change."

Phil's eyebrows rose, and his lips curved the slightest bit. "You've been trying to get that story out of me for two years. When you're in a blind in the snow, Agent Barton, not before."

"You realize I'm going to set that up one of these days, right? I really need to hear this story."

"I'm sure you will, just not until we're on the specifically designated mission."

"Aww, come on, I'll bet I could build a snow blind at headquarters."

Phil shook his head and pressed a light kiss to Clint's brow. "Stories are for missions, Agent Barton."

"That's okay, I like the stuff that's for personal times too." Clint smiled at him before kissing him properly. "Like that, in case you weren't sure," he added when he drew back after a final flick of his tongue over Phil's lips.

An infinitesimal tenseness that had been in Phil's shoulders relaxed at that, and he leaned in to kiss Clint again. "How about you go get a shower then I can do the same then we can get some sleep, all right?"

"Or we could do our part to save the environment and conserve water by showering together," Clint suggested.

"Not with our guest in the other room," Phil said regretfully. "I want at least one of us alert at all times tonight."

"I hate it when you make sense," Clint sighed. "Okay, we'll follow your plan and make up for it once we're home and can relax." He stole one more kiss before heading for the bathroom, shedding clothes as he went.

"That may be quite a while because if you believe that there's quite a lot of paperwork after a mission, that's nothing compared to this one," Phil called after him, his eyes dipping to the line of Clint's ass as he moved.

"Even pissed off, Fury still has to let us eat and sleep eventually. And we'll make good use of that time." Clint glanced over his shoulder at Phil. "And it's worth it. She's worth it."

"She will be," Phil nodded, "but you're why she's here, and you're why it's worth it to me."

Clint hesitated. "You know that I would never choose her over you, right? That's not even an option."

"I never doubted that, but I also never want that to be a choice you have to make."

"Me too, but I don't think I will. We'll give her a place she can be safe, and she'll have our backs." With that Clint vanished into the bathroom, and Natasha silently moved away from their bedroom door where she'd been listening to the conversation.

Phil waited until Clint was in the bathroom before crossing back to the outer door and easing it open. "Though it may not have sounded like it, I do agree with what Agent Barton said, Ms. Romanoff. Good night again, try to get some rest."

She paused halfway back to the sofa and looked back at him. "If I didn't believe that, Agent Coulson, at least one of us would be dead. Good night." She lay down, turning her back to him.

***

"Natasha Romanoff," Fury mused, turning from the window to look back at the redhead who was flanked by Clint and Phil. "So the spider came in from the cold because of our Hawkeye."

"Sir, she—" Phil began only to be cut off by his boss.

"I want to hear it from Romanoff."

"He made me an offer. It seemed reasonable to accept it." Natasha took a seat and regarded Fury coolly. "You should be aware that others have made similar offers in the past. I did not look favorably on those."

"Yeah well, I doubt they were anything but threats, and I've already heard how Barton sweet-talked you and Coulson backed him up on it."

"I believe Barton reserves his sweet talking, such as it is, for someone else."

Clint nearly choked trying to swallow a laugh. "Hey, my sweet talking is stellar."

"Bullshit," Fury dead-panned. "But you obviously know the right things to say because you've brought in the Black Widow and you have Coulson backing you up on the call."

"She chose to come in with us," Phil got in. "If she had chosen otherwise, none of us would be here."

"And my day would be so much quieter," Fury growled. "All of you get the fuck out of my office."

As they left, Natasha asked, "Is he always like that? It's very unusual."

"Oh, you ain't seen nothin' yet," Clint laughed. "Just wait till you hear him after I've been around here for a few days."

"Until you've been in his air vents again," Phil sighed before looking over at Natasha. "So, shall we get you situated here? I can't promise luxury accommodations or the lack of surveillance, but the beds are comfortable."

"That's better than many places I've been," Natasha replied easily.

"And once they get used to you, we can find you a place of your own. It'll be fun. I'll help you decorate," Clint offered.

"Be warned, he likes purple," Phil said as he swiped his badge for the elevator.

"Purple is a great color!"

"We'll discuss it," Natasha said. "You may have noticed my hair? I'd rather not clash with my own home."

"Huh. Okay, light purple. That'd work."

"Perhaps that's something to decide once Natasha has found where she would like to live," Phil offered.

"Spoilsport," Clint grumbled.

"Truly impressive strength," Natasha murmured to Phil.

Phil glanced down at her as they all entered the elevator. "Something I believe we share."

"I don't think I like the implication that it takes strength to be around me," Clint mused. "I feel insulted."

Natasha rolled her eyes, but Phil looked over at Clint, his expression tender.

"I wouldn't want you any other way," he promised.

Clint's smile in return was soft and open, one reserved for Phil. "Good thing for me since you're the only one who does want me."

Natasha watched them both, cataloging their reactions even while she was surprised by how open they were being around her. She was even more surprised when both of them suddenly changed, their expressions shifting into what she already was sure was what they normally presented to the world.

"So this is our latest recruit?" Jasper Sitwell asked, eyeing the petite redhead as he came up to them in the hall. "You have an odd way of following orders, Barton."

Phil took a step forward, shielding both of his agents, realizing even as he did that yes, he thought of Natasha as his as well. "Are you complaining that Agent Barton's quick thinking recruited us a very potent asset who I would be proud to call a member of my team, Jasper?" he asked mildly.

"You don't have a team, Phil; you have Barton," Jasper pointed out though he grinned as he said it, softening the words.

"And now I have Barton and Romanoff. I've doubled my responsibility and gotten myself a strike team; I can't see any problem with that—can you?"

"I think you're going to get yourself killed with these two, Phil, but it's probably a match made in hell." Jasper finally seemed to notice that he was the recipient of twin death glares, and he gazed mildly at the two assets.

"Did you seriously just compare Coulson to the devil?" Clint asked incredulously. "Lucifer could only hope to be that badass."

Natasha chuckled. "Had I known how entertaining SHIELD would be, I might have come in years ago."

"Actually, I believe the director would be closer to Satan," Phil mused. "And, Jasper, don't you have something more useful to do than harangue my agents?"

"I could be haranguing you for the mission paperwork—"

"Which has already been turned in to the director and that being the case, we'll get Agent Romanoff settled if you'll excuse us."

"Or even if you won't," Clint added cheerfully. "I like her better than you."

"I'm shocked," Sitwell responded dryly, shaking his head as he walked away. "You really are nuts, Phil," he said over his shoulder.

"We'll have to disagree on that call," Phil countered before herding the pair into the elevator and swiping his badge before pressing the button for the temporary housing floor.

***

"So do you think it's safe for us to go home yet, or would that be likely to end with Natasha leaving this place a desolate waste?" Clint asked a few days later. He was sprawled on the bed in the spartan quarters they shared at headquarters, enjoying the sight of Phil shrugging out of his jacket.

As he was reaching for a hanger and slipping his jacket onto it, Phil considered the question from several different angles. "She's been settling in, and I believe that we've handled most of the issues with her recruitment," he said slowly.

"There's also the fact that she threatened to knock me out and tie me up in a closet if I didn't stop following her around," Clint said. "I don't think she'd really carry through on it, but it might be good to give her some space."

"You were in the ventilation shaft listening in on her initial interview with Maria," Phil pointed out. "I think they might have had to arm wrestle to decide who got dibs on you for that."

"That's kinda hot. I bet we could sell tickets. Of course, then once they found out, I'm pretty sure there's no place on the planet that they wouldn't hunt me down," Clint mused.

"Exactly, and I'd really prefer not having to take them out to keep you in one piece, so shall we keep that to ourselves?"

"You mean just watch them ourselves? Kinky, Phil, I didn't think you had it in you."

Phil gave a soft snort and arched his eyebrows as he looked back at Clint. "If we tried that, then we both would be in medical for longer than I'd care to think about."

"But you have to admit it would be really hot. They're both gorgeous and deadly." Clint seemed to get lost in the mental images for a moment before he focused on Phil again. "I really want to be around to watch the first time some idiot tries to strong arm Natasha into something."

"Does that mean that you're also willing to fill out all the incident forms that will follow that situation?" Phil asked dryly.

Clint smirked. "Jackass hit on the Black Widow. Wouldn't take no for an answer. Darwinism prevailed."

"Three hundred words minimum, you know the rules," Phil pointed out as he paused before sliding his jacket onto a hanger. "And if you're ready to leave her, we can."

"I guess repeating 'boo hoo' one hundred and forty-five times wouldn't work? Yeah, didn't think so," Clint added with a grin after checking Phil's expression. "And yeah, I think it's time. She doesn't need or want me hanging over her like she's my only chick."

After a moment to consider that, he added. "I'd really appreciate it if you forgot I ever said that or compared myself to a hen."

Phil's eyebrows rose slightly, and his lips curved the tiniest of bits before he answered. "I don't know; Heneye has quite a ring to it."

"I really hate you."

"I find that as believable as the fact that you keep saying that you can't write a correct report."

"Sometimes it's a real disadvantage that you know me so well."

Phil pulled his suit coat back on at that and nodded toward the door. "I could say the same for you, but I prefer to believe that it's an advantage—unless you were speaking of our targets."

"No, but I have to believe that I'm never going to be able to get away with anything with you. Half the time you know what I'm feeling before I do," Clint admitted, moving closer to Phil as they walked out.

"I wouldn't be any good for you if I couldn't do that," Phil answered quietly.

"You could never be anything but good for me."

One corner of Phil's lips quirked upward. "I'll remember that the next time you complain about regulations."

"I said you were good for me. I never said anything about bureaucracy, Agent Not-an-accountant," Clint instantly protested.

"Bureaucracy comes with the package," Phil commented as they headed to the elevator. "Do you want to let Natasha know that you're leaving?"

"They gave her a phone finally, so I'll just send her a text. That way she won't be tempted to kill me."

"And why would she be tempted to kill you?"

"Hovering," Clint replied succinctly.

"Yes, she has been very emphatic in her opinion regarding that," Phil allowed, resting his hand at the small of Clint's back as the elevator arrived and they stepped into it.

"She's almost as bad you when you're injured." Clint shifted his balance ever so slightly to press into Phil's palm, a faint smile curving the corners of his mouth.

Phil cocked an eyebrow at him at that. "Me? I go to medical unlike someone else in this elevator I could mention."

"Oh, sure, you go. It's getting you to stay there or rest that's the problem."

"Once I've been treated, I can rest just as easily in my office—even easier as there aren't people prodding me incessantly."

"I'm pretty sure doing paperwork and scheduling missions doesn't count as resting."

"It's very Zen; therefore, it's relaxing." The elevator slid to a stop, the doors opening to the garage, and the pair walked out toward the dark sedan Phil drove. "Much as target shooting is for you."

"You don't let me do that when I'm injured, so you shouldn't either." Clint glanced over at Phil, waiting for the reaction.

"And you do it anyway," Phil replied mildly as he reached into his pocket, retrieved his keys and unlocked the car.

Clint kept his eyes on Phil as he fastened his seatbelt, the familiar profile comforting. "I guess neither of us will ever change, so it's a good thing we have each other to look out for us." He finally looked away, his gaze falling to his lap.

"I am sorry, you know. Just not about what I did."

Phil's jaw clenched, and he took a deep breath as he backed the car out of the slot. "Perhaps it would be better to talk about this once we've gotten home," he suggested.

Clint nodded silently, his hands gripping the edges of his seat. His shoulders hunched as he pulled in on himself.

Noting the change in Clint's posture, Phil frowned slightly and reached over to rest a hand on his thigh. "The one thing I will say here is that the reason I was so worried about you is because if anything happened to you, I'm not sure how I could go on."

Clint's shoulders relaxed a little, and he moved his hand to cover Phil's. It wasn't the time or place yet to talk, but he had to say, "I love you."

Phil tightened his fingers against Clint's thigh in response, keeping his hand there while he drove, needing the connection as much as Clint did. Traffic was slow, and it was almost an hour later that they arrived at the apartment, both checking the security lights before Phil unlocked and opened the door.

A quick sweep of the place to assure themselves it was secure and Phil drew in a breath as he watched Clint head for the kitchen to put a pot of coffee on. It was make-work he knew, but it also gave him time to mull over what he wanted to say and how best to say it.

"Are you hungry?" Clint called back, puttering around the kitchen as he waited for the coffee to brew. Both he and Phil were aware that he was putting off their discussion as long as possible, but as long as Phil was willing to let him get away with it, Clint was going with it.

"I'm not sure that we have anything left that's edible," Phil answered. "We're going to have to make a grocery run tomorrow."

"Well," Clint said, looking around, "we have peanut butter and jelly, and stale bread that hasn't turned green yet. Yum. We'll have to order something for dinner."

Phil nodded and reached into the drawer under the cabinet near the sink. "Thai, Greek, or Lebanese?" he asked as he pulled out menus.

"Lebanese sounds good. Coffee's ready," Clint added. Once he had two mugs prepared the way they liked it, he carried them into the living room. Perching on the corner of the sofa, he focused on the steaming beverages, waiting for Phil.

Once the order was placed, Phil followed Clint into the living room, sitting in the chair neared to where Clint was balanced. He picked up the mug of coffee, feeling the heat seep into his hands, and looked up from the dark brew to study the other man, making the mental shift from supervisory agent to partner that was necessary for this conversation. "I trust you. I trust your decisions, but I also want you to know that what you did almost stopped my heart simply because if it had worked out any other way, I wasn't near enough to do anything to help you."

Clint sighed faintly, but at least he didn't shrink in on himself. "I know and I'm sorry. If there had been any other way to do it, I would have, but every other option ended with Natasha dead or getting away and me having to kill her later. And everything in me said she was like me, just needing a second chance. I couldn't have lived with myself if I'd taken the shot, Phil. I'd have been deader inside than if she had killed me that day."

Phil shifted in his seat, leaning in closer to Clint, studying him, his expression serious. "She is very much like you in that way. I don't think she would have come in for anyone else but you. I'm very proud of you for what you did, but part of me is also furious at you for taking that chance with yourself. Yes, I know that we do that on a routine basis, but part of me hasn't been quite rational for the past several days."

"I get that, and I'd probably have been a lot crazier about it if the positions were reversed," Clint admitted. "I just don't see that I had any other choice. And I know that doesn't help, but I am sorry that I scared you."

"I..." Phil began before pausing and staring down at his drink again. "I won't ask you not to do anything like that again because I know you can't give me that promise."

Clint hopped off the sofa and dropped to a crouch in front of Phil. He placed a hand on Phil's thigh, gripping it tightly, and he stared at Phil until the blue eyes rose to meet his. "I can't promise that, but I can and do promise to do everything I can to come home safe with you."

Phil shifted slightly at that, releasing the coffee mug with one hand to reach out and cup the side of Clint's face. "I'll take that promise and give you the same in return. And I promise to try not to get irrationally jealous if we find ourselves in this situation again."

Clint stared blankly, completely motionless. "Jealous?" he finally got out. "Of _me_?"

"Not _of_ you, _regarding_ you." Phil paused again, his face gaining a slight ruddy hue.

"You're jealous," Clint repeated, sounding stunned.

"Of course I was; why wouldn't I have been?"

"I'm just... me." Clint shook his head. "You're nuts, but it's working out in my favor, so I'm not going to try to talk you of it. Just know that you're never going to have any reason to be jealous."

Phil leaned over, setting his coffee mug on the end table then tugging Clint between his knees as he straightened. "I love you," he murmured. "You, Clinton Francis Barton, just as you are, just who you are, and I'm always going to love you, so you remember that too."

END


End file.
